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“ Jim Crow would sit on his shoulder and tell him of the doings of the forest animals.” 

(Page 16) 




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Copyright, 1905, 

BY 

THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING CO. 


MADE BY 

THE WERNER COMPANY 
AKRON, OMiO 


Contents . 


PAGE 

Capture of Jim Crow 7 

Terrible Claws the Snow Owi 17 

Slim Nose the Raccoon 29 

Long Ears and King Cotton Quarrel 40 

Red Head the Woodpecker 49 

A Dispute Between Potter and Fine Fur 57 

Narrow Escape of Piny and Proud Tail 68 

Strong Legs’ Escape From Sly Nose’s Trap 79 

Chipper the Woodchuck 89 

Shrewd Eye’s Attempt to Fool the Bear 100 

Death of Long Nose 108 

Woodchuck’s Victory 116 

Trial of Mr. Hyena 122 

Mrs. Molly Sniffer and Her Two Cubs .......... 129 

Stripes Attempts to Play ’Possum . .......... 140 



Illustrations by Carll B. Williams. 

PAGE 

Jim Crow would sit on his shoulder and tell him of the doings of the forest animals 

Frontispiece 

The gun “banged” and a wily crow answered, “Caw-caw-caw” 8 

The crow scratching his bill on the crown of the straw hat io 

Terrible Claws spread his wings and flew off through the forest 19 

The moosebird began to shriek, “The enemy! The enemy!” 20 

Coming to Minnow Brook, he stopped long enough to feel under several flat stones 

for crabs 32 

Climbing to the top, he sniffed the air, then rubbed his nose 34 

The terrible baying of Caesar woke the silence of the night 35 

“My name is Long Ears,” replied the big young cottontail 44 

Soon Caesar came running up, with nose close to the ground 46 

“This place will not make a bad den for myself” 50 

Old Mr. Potter the beaver, was almost beside himself, he was so busy 56 

He noticed a sign on a huckleberry bush 60 

Proud Tail was the first to disappear in the hole, and Piny came after 75 

The opening to his den was darkened by a head with a dreadful beak 76 

Strong Legs, a large plump cottontail 80 

“Ho, ho, good evening, gentlemen,” said Mr. Sly Nose 84 

Messrs. Cottontail legging it off through the snow 87 

Chipper took his station on the watch tower 88 

He saw Sly Nose the fox, squatting above the den 97 

“Well, well, I do believe that here comes Old Grumbler,” remarked Shrewd Eye . . 100 

They both disappeared in the forest 106 

“O, Horrors! Can it be true that there sits Long Nose, the alligator?” screamed Mrs. 

Cottontail no 

The alligator plunged down the hole . . 114 

King Lion called the meeting to order . . . 118 

“Enough !” roared King Lion as Mr. Cricket piped “Twenty” . . 120 

Struck Mr. Hyena a blow that sent him rolling over many times . 125 

Mrs. Cow gave Mr. Hyena a severe lecturing 126 

The animals started for their homes 127 

Boxer scratched and labored until he had almost reached his piece of sweetness . . 13 1 

Boxer began tugging at the limb 134 

Mrs. Whiskers entered with her family of five children 144 

“When I tap him on the ear with this elder-stem, see him jump” 148 




TOM, the Farmer’s son, crept around among the bushes so 
stealthily that you would have thought him an African explorer stalk- 
ing a band of elephants. Caesar, the dog, was at his heels, treading 
so closely that he bumped his nose on the boy’s bare legs which 
caused him to sneeze. Tom turned to the faithful old fellow, motion- 
ing with a stick what he would do the next time he made the least 
noise. 

When Tom reached the cover of a certain stump toward which 
he had been working his way, he squinted around the rough bark and 
took aim at a black spot down in the cornfield. The gun “banged” 
and a wily crow answered “caw-caw-caw” as he flew up from behind 
a tuft of grass not far from where the bullet had struck. Tom had 
seen the bird alight, but he had been fooled by a charred limb at 
which he shot. Caesar raced down across the field, as if he too had 

( 7 ) 


Jim Crow Tales. 


sworn vengeance on the bird that his master wanted to kill for pulling 
the sprouting corn from the ground. “Come he-ar! Don’t be fool- 
ish now, old dog,” scolded Tom, “you and I had better go and hunt 
for snails and tadpoles. Maybe we could catch them” 

Caesar put his tail between his legs and sneaked around in the 
tall grass to the rear of Tom. He realized that there was disgrace 
somewhere, and that he had to do something mighty to redeem his 



The gun "banged” and a wily crow answered "caw-caw-caw.” 


prowess. He snapped at the small flies that buzzed around his 
nose, so fiercely that his teeth came together like those of a mad bear. 
Just at that moment, he could have whipped a woodchuck in less time 
than it takes a cricket to give his fiddle three scrapes. 

Tom was suspicious of every large bird that alighted on the 
ground, which he had cleared of stumps and sown with corn. The 
first crop was to be his, as promised by his father, for the trouble of 


( 8 ) 


Capture of Jim Crow . 


clearing the field. “Crows steal young chickens; crows rob the nests 
of smaller birds and carry off the eggs and fledgings; crows pull up 
newly sprouting corn, and sometimes scratch away the hills and eat 
the grains before they have begun to grow; crows ought to be killed 
because they live off the crops which the farmer raises, besides rob- 
bing nests which wandering hens make out along the fences and in 
the berry patches.” These are some of the bad things, which Tom 
and most other farmer boys accuse crows of doing, and they shoot 
them whenever they get the opportunity. 

Tom went back to the woodshed, rubbed his rifle well with a 
greased rag, and loaded it again. Then he visited the barn, where, 
after considerable rummaging, he found an old tattered coat, and a 
gunny sack which was cut apart and made to appear as much as pos- 
sible like a pair of trousers. Taking these and an old straw hat 
down into the corn field, he dressed a young gum stump as a scare- 
crow. It was enough like a man to cause the hairs on Caesar’s back 
to rise stiff and straight, when he saw it, as he came out from under 
the buggy shed where he had gone to get away from the pestering 
flies, and to cool his woolly sides on the damp ground. The old dog 
growled and sniffed angrily, but when he saw Tom laughing at him 
he turned his shamed face away in the direction of the hill where the 
woodchucks lived, to make it appear as though he was unconcerned 

( 9 ) 


Jim Crow Tales. 



about the matter. He did not know exactly what was wrong but 
he felt that he had been fooled somehow. When Tom went into the 
barn again, he slipped down along the fence and examined with con- 
siderable sniffing the “old man” his mas- 
ter had fixed up to scare the crow away, 

The first thing Tom noticed the next 
morning, when he started the cows for the 
meadow, was the crow scratching his bill 
on the crown of the straw hat in the corn 
field. 

“I won’t miss him this time,” he 
grumbled, as he hurried back to the house 
for his rifle. To make sure that he 
would not frighten the bird, he 
crept along at the side of Brindle, 
his pet cow, as she followed the 
herd down the lane. But in the 
brief time which it had taken him 
to get his rifle, the bird had disap- 
peared. Tom sat down in disgust 
under the old wild-cherry tree, to 
watch a red squirrel wash his face The crow scratch i n g hi ® tni on the crown of 

1 the straw hat. 


Capture of Jim Crow. 


and trim his tail, for the day that had just begun. Soon a “caw” 
greeted him from the top of the tree under which he was sitting. A 
jerking black tail betrayed the bird’s presence on the opposite side of 
a limb. Tom walked around the trunk and the crow hopped in 
front of another limb. Once he could make out the bill of the crow, 
which was working with satisfaction as if his craw were well filled 
with stolen corn. Tom raised his rifle and the crow hopped out of 
sight among the dense leaves of the tree. 

Pretty soon the crow flew down and lit on the rail fence. Tom’s 
breathing almost stopped at the sight. Up went his gun alongside 
the tree, against which he steadied it, but before he could take aim the 
crow hopped down into the pasture among the feeding cattle, and 
Tom knew that he did not dare risk shooting among the herd. 

“I’ll get him yet,” said Tom to Caesar, as the two wandered home- 
ward up the lane. The old dog wagged his tail shyly, as if to say 
“maybe!” 

Tom laid a trap for the crow in the far corner of the cornfield. 
When he came back from the thicket where he had gone to get some 
bean poles, the bird was dining on something in the opposite corner 
near the barn. Tom changed his tactics and set the trap near the 
barn. Then he saw the crow over at the woods. When the boy had 
his rifle with him the wily bird was far away, but when he went 


Jim Crow Tales . 


empty-handed he could walk right under the tree on which he was 
sitting. 

“Animals always come home to sleep,” was a rule the farmer said 
never failed. His son tried it, and hid under some bushes near the 
big oak that supported the crow’s nest. He waited and waited until 
his legs became cramped three times over; while the crow, sitting 
on a tree at the other side of the clearing, waited equally as long. 
Maybe he roosted over there that night, because Tom went home 
long after dark, and the bird had not yet returned. 

Tom whittled what was something like a crow, out of a crooked 
root, and blackened it up with some charcoal. This he stood on a 
stump, on which he also placed some corn, one grain having a string 
tied to it. The other end of the string he held in his hand, off in a 
little covert of dead grass where he had hid himself before daylight 
to make sure that the crow should not know that he was there. The 
crow came to the cornfield as usual, sat upon the elm stump, and 
squinted at the wooden crow, while he ate up every grain of corn ex- 
cept the one with the string tied to it. This made Tom so angry that he 
could not rest in his hiding place. He had forgotten to bring his gun 
along, and evidently the crow knew this, because he did not seem to 
be frightened in the least when the boy jumped up in plain sight. 
Tom was so put out, that he picked up a stone and hurled it at the 


Capture of Jim Crow. 


big, black bird just as it spread its wings to fly. Ah! the stone had 
been aimed better than he thought and took the crow squarely on his 
outspread wing. A bunch of feathers was scattered in the wind and 
the crow fell flopping on the ground, where Tom soon captured him 
and tucked him under his arm in spite of the sharp pecking the bird 
was giving him. 

Once he had him a captive, Tom did not hate the crow half as 
much as when the bird was free, and stealing the corn. He petted 
its glossy sides, gave him more than twice the amount of good things 
he wanted to eat, and even got up one night to see if the crow was rest- 
ing nicely on the old coat that he had thrown in the woodshed where 
he had him a captive. 

Caesar was always a good companion, but he did not respond so 
heartily as did the crow “caw,” when addressed by the farmer’s son. 
Tom had heard of crows that could talk like parrots, and after feed- 
ing the bird well he would put him on his perch before him, repeat- 
ing words persistently, while the crow would answer with loud 
“caws,” much to the annoyance of the old dog, who would betake 
himself to the clearing, and remain there until all the lessons had been 
given. 

When Tom went for trips out into the forest, the crow went with 
him, perched on his shoulder. By and by, Tom and the crow came to 
understand each other thoroughly. 


Jim Crow Tales 


“Jim Crow,” the name given the bird by Tom, did not need to be 
taught how to count, because he could always tell how many wood- 
chucks there were over on the hill; only now he learned to say it in 
Ned’s language. He knew when it was going to rain by sounds the 
frogs were making, and the height at which the swallows went for 
the flies. He knew when the berries were ripe by the number of 
paths the bears wore through the patches; how the cottontails were 
enjoying the summer, by the richness of the clover; and he knew 
where the chipmunks hid their stores of nuts, by the manner in which 
they barked and jerked their tails. He knew what was the matter 
with a field mouse when it squealed, whether it had been stung by a 
bee that had taken possession of its nest, while it was down along the 
swamp looking for something to nibble, or whether it was quarreling 
with a companion over a choice piece of wild cotton for its nest. 
When a woodpecker tapped on a dead tree, Jim Crow could tell by 
its manner, how far he was from the worm he was after. When the 
wolves howled in the forest, and Caesar whined, and crept close to 
Tom’s legs, the crow tried to give the dog to understand that one day 
just such a wolf had chased a deer to its death. 

Jim Crow knew how Stripes the chipmunk, had failed in his at- 
tempt to play ’possum, when he was down in the den of Gray Hairs, 
and Slim Nose the raccoon, came along and tickled him in the ears 
and thumped him over the head with a stick. 


Capture of Jim Crow. 


Tom sometimes talked to Jim Crow, as though he thought the 
bird’s hearing was bad, when indeed he could both hear and see bet- 
ter than the farmer’s son. Even though he was sitting far up on his 
lookout limb, on the big oak where was located Crow’s Nest, he could 
hear Polly, the kangaroo mouse, squealing with pain and anger be- 
cause she had been nipped on the end of the nose by a beetle. Then 
he could see her on her way down the trail leading from Cattail 
Swamp to Woodchuck Town on the hill, in search of a plaster of 
fresh plantain to put on the sore spot. 

Jim Crow knew where the den of Slim Nose the raccoon, was, 
and he saw him escape, the time the Trapper’s son thought he had him 
a captive in the clearing. If it had not been for Red Head the 
woodpecker, that time Ned would have gotten the raccoon’s skin. 

The story about Long Nose the alligator, and how he came to 
his death, Jim Crow got from a wild duck one spring, when that bird 
was on his way from the southland to the lakes in the north. This 
all must be true, for the crow never suspected a duck of telling a 
falsehood. It made him feel good that an alligator had been out- 
witted by a cottontail. 

When Piny the red squirrel, had his fur trimmed up spick and 
span, and the tree frogs were silent all the day, Jim Crow said there 
was going to be dry weather. No one knew this any better than he, 


Jim Crow Tales. 


for the secret habits of all animals were known to him. Every bird, 
on its way north after a long winter, stopped in the clearing for seeds 
and worms, and from these messengers Jim Crow got many of the 
tales that are told in this book. 

On rainy days, while Tom would be lounging in the woodshed, 
the crow would sit on his shoulder and tell him of the doings of the 
forest animals, and they are given here as nearly as possible as Jim 
Crow told them. 



( 16 ) 


@mM@ Q&w 

%A<& Sm@w ®wL 

TERRIBLE CLAWS, a fluffy, white-coated owl, ruffled his 
feathers, shook himself, and then wiped his bill on both sides with up- 
lifted foot, to clean off the traces of the cottontail he had dined on the 
night before. Something had awakened him from his sleep, and he 
opened his eyes wide to see who and where the intruder was. Ha, 
right there in front of the hole in the cedar, where the owl had been 
snoozing, sat Piny, a noisy squirrel, chattering and barking to a friend 
squirrel, perched on a neighboring tree, about the number of nuts he 
had collected for winter. 

“I guess I’ll put a stop to that noise,” croaked angry Terrible 
Claws to himself. His movements were noiseless as the falling 
snow, and slowly, with great eyes of fire, he moved toward the hole. 
Mr. Piny jerked his bushy tail, this way and that way, as he counted 
off to his friend the things he had laid away in his storehouse; “One 

( l 7 ) 



Jim Crow Tales . 


hundred sound hickory nuts; two knots full of beech kernels, dry as 
powder and well seasoned by frosts; five layers of assorted goodies — ” 
“Look out for Old Man Hoot!” fairly screeched Piny’s compan- 
ion, who had seen the owl’s head appearing in the knot hole. 

Flap! Mr. Piny danced wildly, almost losing his balance on the 
slippery limb. Two great wings went brushing by, and swept down 
to the snow beneath. 

Mr. Piny made a spring for the trunk of the tree, and ran al- 
most to the tip top before stopping, making five barks to every leap. 
Hiding in a thick bunch of cedar needles, he looked down and, be- 
hold, there stood his dreaded enemy, Terrible Claws, up to his long 
feathers in the snow, blinking his eyes at a stream of sunshine that 
came down through the branches of the trees. The sight of the owl 
was blinded by the light, and he hardly knew which way to turn to 
get back to his den. The forest was noisy with the danger signals of 
the squirrels, who were scampering in every direction to get away 
from their enemy. Their chattering increased when Terrible Claws 
spread his broad wings, and flew off through the forest, striking 
against limbs, pulling out his tail feathers on bushes, and at last land- 
ing upon a branch in a dense growth of young pines, where the 
shadows made it possible for him to see pretty plainly. As he drew 


Terrible Claws the Snow Owl. 



himself together, he shivered to think what 
would have happened had Old Mr. Gray Fox 
caught him in the snow. 

“White bellied mice and fat cock robins!” 
exclaimed Terrible Claws, looking around; 
“if this isn’t Partridge Roost!” and the owl 
scratched the back of his head to make sure he 
was not having one of his deceiving dreams 
about rich feasts. The sight of a familiar 
covert, a leafy bed beneath where birds might 
keep their shivering toes warm during winter 
nights, brought clear to his memory the inci- 
dents of a memorable raid made by him- 
self and Horn Ear, a big brown owl. They 
had captured two 
fat partridges that 
time, but since then 
had never been able 
to locate the scene 
of their catch, and 
their eatinghad been 
confined to cotton- 


Terrible Claws spread his 
broad wings and flew off 
through the forest. 


Jim Crow Tales. 


tails, mice, and very rarely a pine squirrel or spruce hen, who paid 
their lives for being out later at night than they should have been. 

Terrible Claws had a strong appetite, and he often dreamed of 
partridges as he dozed away the daytime in the hollow cedar. “Here 
then,” thought he, “is just the place to get them.” No matter in 
what direction he turned, he smelled partridge from the limb on 
which he stood. Doing the hunting in a wise and proper manner, 
as all owls should, there ought to be enough eating in Partridge Roost 
to last for a month or two. One every other night, with a few mice, 
would keep him in proper style. 

But Terrible Claws was rudely awakened from his planning, by 
the peremptory question, in a croaking, harsh tone, “What are you 
doing in there?” Every bird and beast of the forest, including Ter- 
rible Claws, knew the voice of Beggar Tom, the moosebird, for he 
traveled widely, ate greedily whether he was invited or not, and made 
it his business to know what was going on in the forest, whether at 
Bear Wallow or Deer Run, Cattail Swamp or Blackberry Grove. 
Hence his boldness in demanding an explanation from the owl. 

Terrible Claws opened his eyes, wide as on the darkest night, 
and stepped sidewise toward his saucy questioner. “What hunter’s 
meat have you been stealing?” snapped the owl. Terrible Claws was 
well acquainted with the greedy habits of the moosebird family and 

( 20 ) 



“ The Moosebird began to shriek, ‘ The Enemy ! The Enemy ! ’ ” 

(Page 22) 














































































































































































































































































































































































































































Terrible Claws the Snow Owl. 


knew that Beggar Tom was no better than the rest of the members. 
From the appearance of Tom’s beak, he had just been dining freely 
on some fresh meat that was not of his own liking, for a moosebird 
never commits murder, but is generally a good sociable fellow, mak- 
ing friends with every hunter that puts in his appearance in the north- 
ern woods. Then he hangs around the hunter’s cabin door, for scraps 
of whatever may be thrown out. 

Now Beggar Tom never liked to have any mention made of 
the manner in which he got his living, and he showed fight at the 
remarks of Terrible Claws. But he forgot that the owl could see 
pretty well in the shadows of the pines, and, on making a dart for his 
enemy’s back, the owl tore out several of the chattering moosebird’s 
feathers with one of his sharp claws. Indeed, so close was Beggar 
Tom to being captured, that he gave a screech of alarm and anger, 
then darted for the top of one of the pine trees. 

“It’s never a smell of partridge that you shall have, you Old 
Hoot-in-the-Night,” cried Beggar Tom, forgetting that it was only 
the family of Brown Coated owls that go about through the forest 
asking the question, “Who are you?” 

“How do you know that I want partridge?” asked Terrible 
Claws, rolling his big eyes around like a search light on a ship at 
sea. “Can’t I come into Partridge Roost whenever I please? What 


Jim Crow Tales . 


if I do eat one, now and then? It is no worse than you, begging every 
day and then forgetting to clean of! your beak, after you’ve eaten like 
a glutton.” 

Just then Terrible Claws became interested in a very strange, 
clucking noise, beneath some underbrush. He looked down and the 
plumpest cock partridge that he had ever seen was strutting along 
at the head of a large flock of birds of his own kind. The dusk of the 
approaching evening had driven them to their sheltered roosting 
place. Their leader, ever alert to the presence of danger, piloted 
them into the covert. 

Beggar Tom also had his eyes wide open and saw the partridges 
as soon as did Terrible Claws. Just as the owl was preparing to 
make a descent after his prey, the moosebird began to shriek, “The 
enemy! The enemy! Look out for the enemy!” in a way that only 
a moosebird can take to signal the approach of danger to a friend. 
“Wh-r-r-r” went the cock partridge away through the forest, with 
his entire flock in pursuit, making a noise like that of thunder. The 
cock headed straight for Cattail Swamp, where he knew there were 
plenty of hiding places under grassy hummocks, although a heavy 
snowfall during the night might completely cover him and his flock, 
so they would never get out. 

Beggar Tom was so well pleased with his good work in helping 


Terrible Claws the Snow Owl. 


the partridges to escape the owl, that he considered it very proper for 
himself to visit the hunter’s camp again, and have a few extra bites 
before taking his roost for the night. 

It was far different with Terrible Claws. He was so angry that 
he sunk his talons into the limb on which he stood, and flapped his 
wings as if they were broken, cracking the points of his beak together 
like a parrot. Strong Legs, the king of Blackberry Grove, who hap- 
pened to be passing by just then in search of stray nuts, that some 
careless squirrel might have dropped, sniffed the air with his split 
nose in the direction of the owl, to discover the cause of all the trouble. 
Striking the ground three times with his woolly hind legs, he made a 
spurt for Mossy Dell as fast as his legs could carry him. 

“Who? Who? Who are you?” came a familiar sound to the 
ears of Terrible Claws. “There comes Horn Ear,” he remarked. 
“I’ll just get him and show him around Partridge Roost. There’ll 
be plenty to eat for both of us. One of us can take care of that pesky 
moosebird, while the other looks after the partridges.” 

Terrible Claws swept away through the forest like a great snow- 
flake, his muffled wings noiselessly fanning the air. Together the 
two owls soon returned to Partridge Roost. Horn Ear was equally 
as big as Terrible Claws. There was a cracking and splintering of 
beaks, it being rather an excited conversation for owls. 


Jim Crow Tales. 


“It’s the same old place,” said Horn Ear, recognizing by brush 
and tree the place where he and Terrible Claws had once caught a 
partridge apiece. 

“There’s no mistake about it,” replied the big snowy owl, “one 
of those partridges would be equal to fifteen meadow mice, and bah! 
some of those mice make me sick. They don’t taste like they used to, 
five years ago. Things have changed considerably since then in this 
section. There isn’t a good hollow tree hereabouts, but what some 
raccoon has his tail wrapped up in it this very minute. Every di- 
rection I turn in my nest there’s a crack in the bark, and the daylight 
shines right into my eyes. I haven’t had a good sleep for a year.” 

“Oh, that’s not the fault of the trees, Terrible Claws, it’s because 
of those hammering woodpeckers. They’ve got to bore a hole into 
everything that sounds hollow, and the only way you can get rid of 
them is to eat all the bugs and ants crawling around in your nest. If 
the woodpeckers don’t see any borings, they’re not going to do any 
plugging.” 

“Horrors! You don’t mean to say that you eat those dirty 
shell-backed bugs, do you?” exclaimed Terrible Claws. “It makes 
me shiver to hear you talk about it. Oo-o! The nasty things! And 
those pudgy bristling worms? I’m surprised how you can do it, 
Horn Ear.” 


Terrible Claws the Snow Owl. 


“Oh, it’s nothing when you consider that in the end they are 
bound to bring ruin to your home. Come with me and I’ll show you 
the snuggest sleeping place you ever crept into. No sunshine, no 
bug borings, no woodpeckers — it’s the most comfortable place I’ve 
ever found.” 

“But Partridge Roost?” questioned Terrible Claws, who dis- 
liked to leave the place now that he had again discovered it. 

“Oh, we’ll come back again. Do you see that maple with the moss 
on it, and that points toward Moose Bottoms? Well, that’s our 
mark by which we’ll know Partridge Roost again.” 

So the two left together, carefully noting the way to return to 
the roost. They swept away among the tall trees, over Deep Meadow 
and Beaver Dam, and at length came to a stately pine, whose life had 
almost been ended, and into whose heart at some time a pine squirrel 
had gnawed his way. The hole had then been further enlarged by 
raccoons and other animals, and birds that conceal themselves in hol- 
low trees. 

“Now you go right in here,” said Horn Ear, squinting into a 
nice round hole,” and then you go up inside, until you come to that 
hole made by a woodpecker. There never was a better place to spy 
on frolicking mice and foolish rabbits, when you don’t want to be 


( 2 .? ) 


seen. 


Jim Crow Tales. 


“Seems rather small, don’t it?” questioned Terrible Claws, puf- 
fing out his feathers as if to compare his big self with the little hole. 

“It gets bigger the farther up you go,” assured Horn Ear. And 
so it did, as Terrible Claws learned after squeezing and spoiling his 
feathers, of which he was very proud. 

“This is very cosy indeed,” he admitted, after reaching the wood- 
pecker’s hole through which he cracked his bill in conversation with 
Horn Ear. But he had no more than straightened out his feathers 
and shaped himself to the hollow inside the tree, than Horn Ear 
scraped something to himself on his rough beak about Partridge 
Roost, and flew away leaving his companion to wonder what was the 
matter. Getting no answer from Horn Ear, Terrible Claws began 
to let himself down. His feathers caught on all sides; the more he 
scratched and twisted, the tighter he became wedged in the hole. 
He was struggling in vain. Too well he now remembered an old 
owl maxim, “Never crawl upward inside a hollow tree.” But there 
he was now, a prisoner. 

The break of day came, and Terrible Claws was yet in prison. 
He sat banging his head, having given up all hopes of escape. That 
Horn Ear was a scoundrel there was no doubt. That he intended to 
imprison Terrible Claws, and get all the benefits of the discovery of 
Partridge Roost, was very plain. The sun’s rays came slanting from 


Terrible Claws the Snow Owl . 


the south, lighting up the depths of the forest. The trees soughed 
and swayed, each pine bough contributing its share of music played 
by the wind among its needles, and from afar the noise sounded like 
the approach of a storm. The gossiping pine squirrels chattered 
greetings to each other, and the occasional dog-like bark of a raven, 
as he sailed above the tree-tops, rudely broke into the weird music of 
the forest. The first snowfall of the season covered the ground be- 
neath, but the grasp of Jack Frost had not yet reached into the earth, 
although the storm bursting so suddenly upon the land, had fright- 
ened all creatures which had not yet completed their preparations 
for winter. 

In the creaking outer crust of the dead pine, slowly, because it 
was cold, a worm was boring, boring in toward the heart of the 
tree. The little particles of punk that it chipped off were pushed out 
into the cold, and one after another, sometimes two at once, dropped 
down into the snow. As its stiff body wriggled and turned in the 
labor, the pine swayed and shivered, its feeble strength being barely 
enough to hold it up any longer. 

The worm had been at its slow work for three days, but it was 
doubtful if the cold would let it complete its task. The roaring of 
the forest was increasing with the power of the gusts. A little whirl- 
wind that had started between the hills of Woodchuck Town, danced 


Jim Crow Tales . 


and skipped as it rushed down across Moose Bottoms. By the time 
it reached the dead pine, its strength had grown to that of a small 
cyclone, and with a crash and a roar the pine’s limbs were shattered, 
and worse still, its top was torn off at the point where the bug had 
been boring. 

Great was the surprise of Terrible Claws when the tree broke 
and the light came flooding in on him. The worm had been boring 
right above his head and with the service of the whirlwind, the owl 
was freed from his prison. He blinked and blinked, not being able 
to make out what had happened, until a passing cloud shut off the 
stream of sunshine, and he saw that he was a captive no longer. With 
all his speed he swept from the shattered stub, away to his old home 
in the cedar. 

It was late one evening, not long after his adventure with Horn 
Ear, that Terrible Claws in his search for food visited Partridge 
Roost, but found no birds there. After watching a while he flew to 
the ground and picked up a mouse. As he caught his prey he noticed 
a heap of feathers and bones. “It must be Horn Ear,” he said. And 
sure enough, it was the remains of the scoundrel owl, after Old Gray 
Fox had dealt with him, for the tracks showed that the wily reynard 
had been there. No more have the inhabitants of Evergreen Forest 
heard Horn Ear asking, “Who? who? who are you?” 


(28) 


Mm N©s® 

1A@ IRjks©©®., 

SLIM NOSE, the raccoon, got up from his bed and sneezed 
three times. Then turning around and around, he thrust his head 
from the den and caught sight of a woodpecker drilling for worms 
right above him. Every time Mr. Red Head’s beak struck the dead 
limb, the dust fell down and tickled the coon’s nose. 

“Now, this is just like one of those rattle heads! — breaking into 
a fellow’s nap right at the point where he is enjoying himself!” 
said Slim Nose, and he took a run up on the inside of the hollow tree, 
and made a grab at the worm eater’s bill as it shot in and out the 
hole. Instead of catching Red Head as he had intended, he got a bit- 
ing dab on his front foot that made him whimper and soothe the hurt- 
ing point with his tongue. 

( 29 ) 



Jim Crow Tales. 


Red Head, musing to himself as to what he had hit in the hole, 
drummed a couple of rat-tats and then squinted sidewise into the 
hollow limb. Slim Nose caught the bird’s eye, and, not being seen 
himself, scratched gently against the tree’s wall. Red Head, think- 
ing it was a fat June bug scraping his armored back against the wood, 
made his head go so fast that his red crest was naught but a scarlet 
streak in the evening’s sun. He was leaning half way in the hole, 
when a small lean hand, like that of a monkey’s, slipped out of an- 
other hole and caught the woodpecker by both legs. 

There was a desperate flapping for a few minutes, and then Slim 
Nose put his muzzle to the hole and said: 

“I think, Red Head, I’ll put a stop to your hammering. You’ve 
been bothering me ever since you came back this spring. It seems 
to me you’d know that if there were any crickets in here I’d eat them 
myself.” 

“I thought you liked only grasshoppers,” squeaked Red Head. 

“Oh, no, Red Head, grasshoppers are pretty hard to catch, and 
besides when you do get them you can’t always wash them. I like 
everything wetted before I eat it. That fuzz, bugs have on their 
legs, tickles my throat when it’s dry. But give me a crab to any- 
thing else, however, next to a crab I’ll take frog hams. H’m!” and 
Slim Nose licked his mouth, “that’s what I had last night down at Cat- 


Slim Nose the Racoon. 


tail Swamp. I saw Strong Legs the cottontail, eating some strange 
kind of grass there, which he said would cure pain he had in one of 
his jumpers. But I’m getting tired, hanging up inside this tree and 
holding those timothy stems of yours.” 

“If you’ll let me go, Slim Nose,” pleaded Red Head, “maybe I 
can do you a good turn sometime. If you ever want to change your 
home I can give you the best of references as to where you can get 
another, and a safe one too. There isn’t a tree in Alder Bottoms, or 
on Chestnut Ridge, or on Deer Run, that I can’t tell you all about it, 
whether it’s hollow or not, or whether it’s got a good safe limb that 
isn’t occupied by some other coon. Please let go my legs, for you’ve 
got them cramping me awfully.” 

“Supposing I did want to ask you something, where would I find 
you at night? You know I can’t afford to be hunting up wood- 
peckers in the daytime.” 

“You’ll always find me roosting in an old knot hole in the old 
maple, the third one on the other side of Bear Wallow, as you go on 
your way down to the creek. The limb is on the creek side, because 
I never sleep where the moon can shine in my face and point me out 
to Horn Ear, the owl.” 

Just then there was a faint howl in Moose Meadows. Slim 
Nose felt a chill pass over him, for he knew it was Caesar, the hound. 
Letting go the woodpecker’s legs, he slid down into the nest. 


Jim Crow Tales. 


By this time the dusk of evening had settled over the woods and 
the squirrels were drawing in their proud tails out of owls’ sight. It 
was time for coons to be looking for their meals. 


Slim Nose, humped together like the little bear that he was, 



Coming to Minnow Brook, he stopped long enough to feel under several flat stones for crabs. 


thoughtfully gazed from the door of his den into the tops of a scraggly 
tree, where a little bird was cuddling himself beneath a leafy cover- 
let. 


Slim Nose the Racoon. 


At length he ambled out upon his playground, a broad, smooth 
limb, for Slim Nose was but two years old and sometimes had foolish 
spells yet. Slapping with a front paw a fluttering leaf several times, 
he wheeled about, leaped upon a leaning maple, loped down to the 
ground, and hurried away on a well traveled path leading from 
Woodchuck Town to the open country beyond Moose Meadows. 

Upon coming to Minnow Brook he stopped long enough to feel 
under several flat stones for crabs, but finding none, he climbed 
across the water on a wild grape vine and took up the path again. 
Soon Slim Nose came to a region of stumps and blackberry thickets. 
Here he began to take some precaution, walking now on a fallen tree, 
now retracing his steps a few rods, and then leaping from one stump 
to another; now following the footsteps of a woodchuck or a weasel, 
and now shuffling along a short distance on the ground. All this 
was done to confuse the nose of Caesar, the hound, if the dog should 
happen upon his trail. 

Slim Nose at length came to a fence of rails. Climbing to the 
top he snified the air, then rubbed his nose between his fore feet, and 
sniffed again, after knocking aside a spider web hanging from a 
fence post to an elm shoot. There could be no mistake — he smelled 
new corn, new corn with the sweet milk in it; it was a wonder there 
were not more coons after it. 


Jim Crow Tales . 


Slim Nose let himself down backward off the fence, wishing to 
be as quiet as possible, and parting the tall grass with his pointed 
muzzle, ambled over among the rows of corn. By hanging his 
weight on a stalk he pulled it to the ground, and, in another moment, 
bit off the husk and began sucking the sweet juice. It was delicious! 
Slim Nose set himself down at the ear and ate with all his might, 
turning the cob around and around, as he nipped off the grains. 
Gray Hairs, the opossum, came by, being on his way to a chicken 
coop, and poked his nose intrudingly into the coon’s feast, besides 
dragging his ugly snake-like tail, over the husk. For this Slim Nose 
slapped him on the head with a front paw, and sent him on his way. 

Slim Nose had about cleaned off his first ear, when the terrible 
baying of Caesar the hound, beyond the corn patch, broke the silence 
of the night. Hastily rolling a big pill of succotash between his fore- 
feet, and thrusting it into his mouth, he loped off toward the fence. 
Hearing the hound coming nearer, he selected a roundabout way to 
the woods; first retracing his steps by circling around through white- 
bellied mice paths and cottontail lanes, and coming upon his own 
trail again. Several times he repeated this movement, very much 
like the tying of a knot in a string. Finally redoubling his steps to the 
fence, he jumped upon a rail, ambled along it for several rods, and 
then jumped down and started for the wood on a cottontail trail. He 



“ Climbing to the top he sniffed the air, then rubbed his nose.” 

(Page 33) 




Slim Nose the Racoon. 



The terrible baying of Caesar the hound 
woke the silence of the night. 


was sure the hound could never 
unravel that mess of tracks and 
find where he had really started 
across the clearing. But, strange 

to say, the hound was getting 

nearer every moment. Hearing a 
rustling noise that made the fur 
rise straight up on his back, Slim 
Nose looked behind and saw Gray 
Hairs sneaking along in his tracks. 

“My, but you make me pant. 
I never saw anyone who wasted as 
many steps as you 

do,” said Gray 

Hairs seeing him- 
self detected. 

“You don’t 
mean to say that 
you followed me 
while I was making 
that curlicue?” de- 
manded the coon 
fiercely. 


( 35 ) 


Jim Crow Tales . 


“I didn’t know what you were making, but I concluded that you 
must have eaten too much corn and were dizzy; so I followed you to 
tell you that it was no time to be playing catch-your-tail, for Caesar, 
the brindle hound, is coming. He must have heard you in the corn.” 

“You must not think, Gray Hairs, to deceive me. I heard the 
chicken squawk and shortly after that heard the dog bark. Now 
you’ve been leading him right along my trail. You know that he will 
follow mine now instead of yours.” 

“Oh, come now, Slim Nose, don’t get your back up so high. 
You were stealing corn while I was — ” 

“Ow-ow-w-oo-oo-o, ow-ow-w-oo-oo-o !” 

This fearful sound broke on the ears of Slim Nose and Gray 
Hairs. During their quarrel the hound had almost slipped upon 
them, and had it not been for the tall grass of the clearing, he would 
have gotten them between his powerful jaws. 

Gray Hairs slipped off through the grass and sneaked into a 
hole that a woodchuck had sunk beneath an oak stump. He was safe 
there. But Slim Nose, who was too proud to use anything but a house 
of wood, with the cleanest of beds, left the cottontail trail and hurried 
around through a thicket of brairs. Again the hound bayed. This 
time the dog was in the brush, which Slim Nose had just left. The 
coon must climb something now, or else be caught. 


(36) 


Slim Nose the Hacootl . 


Running along on a fallen tree trunk Slim Nose climbed into 
a dead snag, whose body had been made naked of all bark many years 
before by fire. He was scrambling upward, when the baying hound 
reached the tree. The coon could see the dog’s fiery eyes and then 
he saw a man thrust his head and a lantern into the hole. It was Ned, 
the Trapper’s son. He was after Slim Nose’s fine coat of fur. 

Slim Nose climbed on and on, until the hole became so small 
his body would hardly slip through. He was now out in the tree’s 
only limb, which extended toward a big green elm that the woods- 
men had left standing because of its worthlessness. 

By and by, Slim Nose, cramped in the narrow hole, believed 
that it was safe for him to slip back far enough, that he might stretch 
his cramped legs, for the hound had ceased his barking. Suddenly 
a fit of sneezing took hold of his nose. Then his nose began to smart 
and his eyes to shed tears. A cloud of smoke, slowly drifting up in- 
side the tree, was doing all this. Slim Nose knew at once what it 
meant. Ned, the Trapper’s son, was trying to smoke him out. He 
had heard how many a raccoon, dizzied by the fumes, had dropped 
down into the mouths of a pack of dogs. He now T believed that his 
life was close to its end, for his woolly sides were panting hard for 
fresh air. Crawling out into the limb, as far as he could go, and 
where tne smoke had not yet reached, he caught a few clear breaths. 


Jim Crow Tales . 


Then too, his body helped to shut out some of the ascending odors. 

But Slim Nose’s head was becoming dizzy; he was afraid his 
nails would let go and he would fall down to Caesar. Covering his 
nose with his front feet he determined he would die up inside the 
tree, rather than become the prey of the Trapper’s son. 

The night had just gone, and the clearing was noisy with chat- 
tering and chippering birds all gay in the bright morning. Like the 
ship riding over billowy seas, Red Head, the woodpecker, came sail- 
ing over the treetops from the east. His crest was rosy, and his appe- 
tite sharp. Dropping down in a graceful sweep, of which Red Head 
was very proud, he lit upon the limb of a naked snag, and dancing 
around and around, with a casual peck, came to fresh borings of a 
bug. Hammering with all his might he drove his beak rapidly into 
the soft punk. Giving an unusually hard tap his beak broke through 
into the hollow of the limb. To Red Head’s great surprise he caught 
sight of Slim Nose’s short ears and spotted head. While he was 
looking at him and wondering why he was not at home in his den 
in the old oak, the coon, as if awakening from a deep sleep, feebly 
drew his head from between his paws and blinked his eyes at the 
woodpecker. 

“Red Head, if that’s you,” said Slim Nose, “you’ve saved my 

(38) 


Slim Nose the Racoon. 


life. My, how that fresh air does tickle my nose. If you had been 
a coon I’d promise you ten of the finest pairs of frog-legs you had 
ever tasted for this good deed.” 

Slim Nose was interrupted by a chopping noise at the foot of 
the snag, which was shaking dangerously. “I must get out of here 
quick,” said the coon, “that Trapper’s boy, who’s after my skin, is 
going to cut down this tree.” Tearing away pieces of the old tree 
with his sharp teeth, Slim Nose soon had a hole big enough for his 
body to pass through. 

“Come around this afternoon, after the sun has stopped shining 
into the door of my den, Red Head, and I’ll tell you how I came to 
be in here,” said Slim Nose as he crawled from the hole, keeping his 
sharp eyes on Caesar and Ned at the bottom of the tree. 

Sneaking across upon the green elm whose leaves sheltered 
from the eyes of the hunter, Slim Nose was soon out of danger, hurry- 
ing as fast as he could toward his den in the old oak. 



IT WAS a steaming hot day, and Long Ears a big young cotton- 
tail, felt as though his heavy coat of fur was smothering him. 

“Phew, I wonder if it is this warm everywhere?” he said, and 
turning over on his side, panted like a dog, and stretched his hind 
legs out lazily. “There hasn’t been a dew for three days, and my nose 
is almost parched. I can’t smell a thing, not even the peppermint 
growing down there at Cattail Swamp. But I guess we’re going to 
have some rain, because I hear a tree-frog.” 

Long Ears panted and panted under his summer shed in the 
swamp. Every way he turned his head, the hot sun’s rays found him 
out. The dancing grasshoppers and droning crickets bothered him, 
while the little flies buzzed in his ears. He would lay both back 
over his head, then throw one forward at the scratching of a bird in 


(40) 


Long Ears and King Cotton Quarrel . 


the hushes. Then both would fly up. There was really no comfort 
for Long Ears in the swamp that day. 

“I think I’ll take a hop over to Blackberry Grove,” he at length 
decided. “The owls are asleep and I haven’t seen a hawk this 
morning. I’ll take it slow around by Frog Pond and Tadpole Pool, 
and up the hill past Woodchuck Town. There’s shade all the way. 
Chipper, the woodchuck, may have in mind a hole that I can occupy 
next winter.” 

Long Ears hopped out from under the tuft of grass and stretched 
his hind legs. Ahead of him was a cottontail crossroad, bearing 
the signs : “EAST TO CATTAIL SWAMP ; WEST TO MOOSE 
BOTTOMS, DEER RUN, TUSSOCK MEADOW AND BEAR 
WALLOW; this is a short cut to CROW’S NEST ; turn to your left 
and you’ll come out TWENTY-SEVEN JUMPS from BLACK- 
BERRY GROVE.” 

These instructions were carved on a young elm, in cottontail 
shorthand, which neither Sly Nose, the fox, nor Terrible Tooth, the 
wolf, could interpret. Both of these enemies of cottontails were able 
to follow anyone of the paths a short distance, but cottontails have a 
very confusing habit of jumping to the right or left, a big leap, and 
when the fox or wolf come to those points they are always puzzled. 

For the benefit of his friends, the cottontails, Long Ears had 
gnawed a few instructions how to reach his summer home. 


(40 


Jim Crow Tales. 


“Turn to your right from Blackberry Grove road, take three 
big jumps to a bunch of timothy, then circle around until you come 
to an old blackbird’s nest in some huckleberry bushes. Three strokes 
with your hind legs will give me great pleasure to come forth, if I’m 
at home. Yours, 

Long Ears.” 

Long Ears hopped leisurely along on his way to Blackberry 
Grove. He was not a quarrelsome fellow, and was willing to learn 
new tricks even though his teacher might be the smallest cottontail 
in that country. Many a time, when other young fellows were revel- 
ing in some newly-discovered patch of tender clover, Long Ears was 
sitting in some secret place receiving instructions in cottontail craft 
from a wise old chap by the name of Tufty. In this way he became 
acquainted with all the tricks cottontails use, when pursued by an 
enemy. He had five rules that he always carefully followed. 

Rule i : “When Sly Nose is after you, cut two circles around 
Blackberry Grove. Then turn on your tracks a short distance, hop 
along the trunk of a fallen tree and sit among the upturned roots. 
A fox keeps his nose pretty close to the ground, and will not look 
for a cottontail up so high. 

Rule 2: “Always live near a peppermint patch, because a whiff 
of peppermint in a dog’s or fox’s nose destroys his power to scent 


Long Ears and Ki n g Cotton Quarrel . 


correctly. If you run through the patch they will always lose the 
trail. 

Rule 3 : “Whenever you borrow a den from a woodchuck, be 
sure and ask him where he has his side door, because he always has 
one or two of them and when you want to get away from a weasel or 
a hunter you can use it and they will not know what has become of you. 

Rule 4: “Never climb into a hollow tree. Coons and ’possums 
have good claws for climbing, but cottontails sometimes fall, and if 
the enemy is down below waiting for you, he will surely get you. 

Rule 5: “Never try to be friendly to a man, and stay around 
his barn because it is warm under the logs or haystacks in winter time. 
Oh, no! Every man has hungry dogs and cats, that are always look- 
ing for something to eat. Then there are boys who study how to make 
traps that will catch you alive. Every man blames rabbits for killing 
peach trees and they never let cottontails get past Christmas time, if 
they can help it.” 

Long Ears followed these rules closely and no matter how 
hungry he became, nor who tried to persuade him, he remembered he 
was only a cottontail and that there were many creatures who like 
rabbit meat to eat. 

Now down in Tussock Meadow there lived a proud cottontail 


Jim Crow Tales . 


by the name of King Cotton. It was said of him, of course in secret, 
that he was descended from a crow-black rabbit that had been reared 
in captivity by Ned the Trapper’s son, but who had escaped from him 
and made his home among the wild rabbits. The story must have 
been true, for King Cotton did have a black spot, right behind one 
of his ears, of which he was very much ashamed. King Cotton 
could cut his name higher up on a tree than any other cottontail in 
Tussock Meadow and he was very jealous of his reputation. 

King Cotton having heard of the skill of Long Ears, which had 
reached Tussock Meadow that summer, desired very much to have a 
quarrel with him, and see if he really was as shrewd as they said he 
was. Several trips to Blackberry Grove failed to locate Long Ears, 
who seldom slept there because of the frequent prowlings of the trap- 
per’s dog Caesar. He went there this day, only because he thought 
the dog would be too lazy to be out looking for creatures like himself. 

Long Ears had hardly seated himself beneath some drooping 
berry bushes when he was awakened from his light snooze by a 
“thrum” upon the ground. He knew it was the challenge of someone 
and he jumped upon his all-fours, leaning forward ready to receive 
the enemy. 

“Who are you?” demanded the challenger, King Cotton of 
course. 


( 44 ) 



li ‘ My name is Long Ears,’ replied the big young cottontail.” 

(Page 45) 









Long Ears and King Cotton Quarrel . 


“I belong to Blackberry Grove,” was the reply of Long Ears. 
“You are welcome to a part of this shade I’m enjoying.” 

“But who are you? I know this is Blackberry Grove. I am 
King Cotton, and I’m looking for a fellow by the name of Long Ears. 
Seems to me, young fellow, that you are pretty bold to be sleeping in 
such a poor place as this in the daytime.” 

“My name is Long Ears,” replied the big young cottontail, “but 
surely I’m not a bit bolder than you, who must have come a long dis- 
tance, for your legs bear the marks of dusty roads.” 

“So you’re the chap I’ve heard so much about! I do not think 
you are half so strong as they say you are. Anyhow I don’t like 
that bold manner in which you talk to me. I’ve come here to Black- 
berry Grove to teach you a thing or two, and think I shall take up 
my quarters in a nice, cozy den, down there by Beaver Dam.” 

“That is indeed a very fine place both for winter and summer,” 
admitted Long Ears, “but as I have always claimed it for myself, I 
am sure that you can find one equally as good further down the 
stream.” 

This reply angered King Cotton, and as he was looking for a 
quarrel, the quiet manner in which Long Ears laid claim to the den 
by the dam, made the meadow ruler all the angrier. So with ears 
back, and an ugly look in his eyes, he made a rush for Long Ears. 


( 45 ) 


Jim Crow Tales . 


There promised to be a terrible quarrel, had not something un- 
foreseen happened. So many angry and loud words in Blackberry 
Grove was bound to bring trouble for both the cottontails. Just as 
they were about to begin striking at each other with their hind legs, 
their anger was changed to fear, and both stood trembling at the 
deep baying of Dog Caesar. The hound was now at the very edge 
of the grove, and was giving out his warning that he smelled cotton- 
tails strongly. He had come upon the tracks of King Cotton where 
that foolish fellow had crossed the corn patch on his way to Black- 
berry Grove. 

King Cotton did not hesitate long, but darted away through the 
grove as fast as his legs could carry him. Long Ears put into use 
one of old Tufty’s favorite tricks. Hopping a little to one side, he 
took a great leap upon the roots of an upturned tree. There he 
crouched low to await the coming of the hound. 

Soon Caesar came running up with nose close to the ground, to 
the place where Long Ears had been sleeping. Round and round 
he went, each time smelling in a wider circle, but never looking up. 
Finally he stopped, gave several strong sniffs, and hurried away 
through the bushes on the trail of King Cotton. 

It was a long and dreadful chase for King Cotton. At one time 
when he sat down to rest a few seconds beneath some bushes, the 


( 46 ) 



“ Soon Caesar came running up with nose close to the ground.” 

(Page 46) 





Long Ears and King Cotton Quarrel . 


hound almost got him between his jaws by slipping up quietly. The 
warm breath of the hound almost frightened the life from the cotton- 
tail. It was too long a run for him to attempt an escape to Tussock 
Meadow where he knew of many secret places. Caesar would catch 
him long before he could reach his favorite haunts. He was so 
frightened that he could not think of a single woodchuck hole in the 
vicinity of Blackberry Grove. 

Panting and weak he came around in a circle the third time, to 
where he had challenged Long Ears. He knew he could not run 
much further, and the hound was in hot pursuit. What was that? A 
friendly thump? King Cotton looked up and saw Long Ears among 
the roots. The signal was an invitation for him to come up too. 
King Cotton was only too glad to accept. 

Caesar sniffed and sniffed as hard as he could, but he never 
thought once of looking up into the hiding place of the two cotton- 
tails. He followed their trails again and again, and finally went bay- 
ing down through the corn patch on the road by which King Cotton 
had come up. 

When he was sure the hound had gone, Long Ears jumped down 
from the roots. But King Cotton remained there until evening came, 
when he betook himself back to Tussock Meadow. However, before 
he went, he stood upon his hind legs, and upon a tender young beech 


Jim Crow Tales. 


as high up as he could reach, he cut these few marks of gratefulness to 
the one who had saved his life: 

“To all cottontails, both young and old, I want to make it known, 
that Long Ears, of Blackberry Grove, shall always have one true 
friend. King Cotton.” 



(48) 


@dl IHM f£Jn@ 

W@©(%>®dk(sro 

“RAT-TAT-T-TAT.” Red Head the woodpecker was drilling 
into the fifth hole he had tapped without getting a single bug or 
worm. “They must have all gone to a picnic,” said he squinting into 
the augur like hole. “Well, I just wish they would have given me an 
invitation. H’m, h’m; rat-tat-tat, rat-tat-tat, tatty-t-tat, tatty-t-tat. I’d 
have eaten up their picnic baskets, bugs, sandwiches and all, and they 
all would have tasted good. Rat-tat-tat tatty-t-tat. This is pretty 
hard drilling and I don’t see how that worm could get into it. Must 
have had his pincers sharpened up lately, at the rate he shoved those 
borings out. Rat-tat-tat!” 

Red Head had drilled until there was nothing but his short tail 
protruding from the hole. “Well, if that bug has fooled me, this 
place won’t make a bad den for myself. Plenty of room inside. 

( 49 ) 



Jim Crow Tales . 


Three closets for a few nuts, that I may need during the long snow; 
a bed long enough for me to stretch myself, and not muss my tail 
feathers. After all a real den that the owls cannot get into, beats a 
knot-hole every time.” 

He crept inside, for the tree was hollow; then he turned around. 
“Fine for sunshine, and I do love that so when the cold comes ; away 
from chattering moosebirds, and yet right in the region where the fat 
bugs grow. Three for breakfast, one for lunch with a few wild- 
cherries for dessert, and two before I go to bed. Now just listen to 
that fat cricket scraping on his fiddle. I don’t know just where he 
is and if I fly out of here to look, he’ll stop that very minute. How 
they must fear a woodpecker. Well, I guess I am a dangerous look- 
ing being, with feathers of blood on my head, and a bill that is as 
sharp as an ax. Sometimes I'm sorry I kill them, but then I do love 
them so. 

Red Head turned himself about and was squatting in the door- 
way of the home he had just found, when he saw a spider’s web strung 
from an elderberry bush at the foot of the stub up almost to the point 
where he had drilled. “Hello,” he exclaimed, “there is one of Mrs. 
Jenny Spider’s telephone lines. I guess I’ll call her up and see if 
she’s had breakfast yet.” 

Red Head tapped the web with a big toe. “She must be in bed 



“ This place will not make a bad den for myself.” 

(Page 49) 



( 










Hed Head the Woodpecker. 


yet or else I don’t give the proper signal. Three rings for a fat fly, 
two for a slim one, five for a grasshopper and four that there is a 
cricket at her door. That seems about the manner in which she would 
have her signals. One long ring would mean that it was raining, 
and she might as well remain in bed all the day. It must be pretty 
hard work to be up all night climbing around over timothy stalks, 
spinning a web so that you can have something for breakfast the next 
morning. Then maybe the flies won’t come around all that day, and 
you’ve got to sit down and dine on some left-over grub that’s dry and 
hard. I guess I’ll have to call up again. Maybe she’s up now, clean- 
ing away the dishes or else giving Tommy Spider some soup.” 

Red Head’s toe tapped the wire again and again, but Old Mrs. 
Spider, who was sitting far back in the maze of webs which she had 
woven around and around in the shape of a funnel, saw who was 
meddling with her signal wire and kept herself carefully concealed, 
because woodpeckers have been known at various times to eat spiders. 
“Not at home,” at length concluded Red Head and he closed his eyes 
in a snooze brought on by the warm sunshine of the summer’s day. 

While Red Head slept, two ants marched across his feet, each 
with a prisoner they had captured in an ant town further up the tree. 
A lightning bug flew over his head, flapping its wings to see if they 
were in fit condition for the night’s serenade. A daddy-long-legs that 


Jim Crow Tales . 


had climbed on his back, slipped off, because the woodpecker’s 
feathers were too smooth for him to secure a footing. 

The accident caused a confusion in Red Head’s dreams and he 
twisted himself into a more comfortable position. The movement 
caused one of the ants to let go his hold on his captive, and there was 
some fast running for the little soldiers before they got him again. 
The lightning bug, sitting back in a dark corner, again turned on 
his lamp two or three times. A big bug, boring into the old tree’s 
punk, dropped a chip down upon Old Jenny’ Spider’s telephone wire, 
and she came rushing out thinking she had caught a bluebottle fly. 
Somehow her foot got tangled on her front porch and she had to do 
a little spinning to repair the damage done. 

Down in the deep grass and briars, a hungry weasel was nosing 
his way around, sniffing for birds’ nests and roosts. “Are there any 
woodpeckers, flickers, sparrows or thrushes hereabouts?” he asked 
of a Mr. Woolly Bear, slowly climbing a wild cotton stem. 

“Not as I know of,” replied the caterpillar.” I haven’t got time 
to be looking for birds. If you’re going toward the east, keep well 
to the right. There’s an ant town not far from here, and they almost 
killed me when I came by this morning. If I get safely up this pole 
I shall be happy, because I’m never coming down again.” 

The weasel went on, sniffing and poking his nose into every sus- 


lied Head the Woodpecker . 


picious corner where he thought there might be a bird’s nest. Finally 
he reached the old snag, and carefully examining his way around it, 
he at length reached a small hole in its base. 

“This is a woodpecker’s tree, if I’m not mistaken,” he argued, 
and then disappeared in the hole which had been made by chipmunks 
many years before. It was hard climbing for the weasel, being 
clogged in places with rotten wood, bug borings and the like, and in 
other places the walls were so smooth and steep, he could barely scale 
them. “If there is a woodpecker up there, he can surely hear me,” 
complained the weasel. “I wish I had stayed out in the meadow. 
I’d rather dodge those snares set by Ned, the Trapper’s son, than 
climb around inside this nasty hole. A dozen partridge-eggs would 
be all I’d ask for, and I think when I get out of here I’ll look for 
some of them. There might be a chance of getting the old hen on 
her nest.” 

The weasel climbed on up, until he came in sight of a short tail 
of pretty bright feathers, in a woodpecker’s hole. Then he became 
as quiet as a mouse. He did not dare make the least noise if he wished 
to capture the woodpecker, which was Red Head. Then too, there 
was another problem before him. Between him and his prize there 
was a wide space which he knew he could not leap because his legs 
were too short and his body too lengthy, to make a long spring. In the 


Jim Crow Tales. 


dark he looked almost like a snake, and when he was mad he threw his 
body into a fold, that made him look still more like a snake. 

While the weasel was planning, a big cricket kept sawing on his 
fiddle, “Chic, chic, chic, chaw-a-a-a; chic, chic, chic, chaw-a-a-a.” 
The old fellow’s wings were working finely, and never seemed to 
wear out as he rubbed them together time after time. Now that 
everything was very quiet, he sawed harder than ever. The weasel’s 
tail brushed up against a pinch-bug, whose two sharp tongs went to- 
gether with a snap. A tree-frog that had been silent until this time, 
no doubt smelling rain in the air, broke forth into a trill that made 
the weasel’s head ring. 

“I wonder who else is going to start up a song and a dance?” 
said the angry bird-nest robber. “The first thing I know that wood- 
pecker will wake up and fly away. Then I’ll surely have to go back 
to the meadow to get something to eat. This place is worse than a 
bees’ hive for noise. Now there a locust has turned loose his rattle 
box just because he heard someone else piping. But how am I going 
to get that woodpecker?” 

Just then an ant, who resented the intrusion of the weasel into 
his territory, ran up into the latter’s fur and bit him in the leg so 
sharply that the weasel turned to scratch himself. By that time the 
ant had run down to his toes and gave him another pinch, before 
scampering off to his village. 


( 54 ) 


lied Head the Woodpecker . 


The weasel was as careful as he could be, considering the things 
that were annoying him. A woodpecker-breakfast, was something 
that he could not afford to let get away from him. His nose was almost 
touching the bird’s short tail and Red Head was still snoozing, amidst 
the scraping of the cricket and the tree-frog’s quaver. The weasel 
was sure of his prey, and humping up his snake-like body as a big 
green worm does, was prepared for the final spring. Just then there 
was a hard sneeze and away went Red Head, leaving between the 
weasel’s teeth one or two of his tail feathers. 

“My, I surely must be catching cold,” said a voice in a myster- 
ious part of the hollow tree. “H’m, h’m, a cough in the summer time 
is a terrible thing. Seems to me I feel a draught blowing in over me 
and yet I stopped every crack that I could find the last time I slept in 
here. But who can tell who hasn’t been boring into this old stub since 
then? Hello there! You sneak! It’s you, is it, that has been nosing 
around again?” 

Slim Nose, the raccoon, poked his head from one of the side 
rooms of the den. He hated weasels as bad as he did ’possums. The 
coon and weasel both got their backs up, and there threatened to be a 
terrible quarrel. 

“I’ll make you dance to that cricket’s fiddle-music,” snapped 
Slim Nose. 


( 55 ) 


Jim Crow Tales. 


The weasel spat and spat, and backed off toward the hole through 
which he had come up. When the coon made an angry dash for 
him, he fell through, and went scraping and scratching down inside 
the hollow tree. Then wriggling along through the bushes, he left for 
the meadow, hoping to find a few partridge-eggs to satisfy his ap- 
petite. The racoon lay down to sleep again, after letting a little sun- 
shine fall upon his nose, through the hole Red Head had hammered 
into the tree. That was to drive away the chances of his catching a 
cold. Then going back, he turned his face to the wall and wrapped 
his muzzle in his soft tail. 

Away down at Cattail Swamp the “rat-tat-tat” of Red Head 
could be heard above the chorus of tree-frogs, which had taken up 
the trilling of the one on the dead tree, where Red Head had just 
escaped with his life. Their prophecy was true, for a rain storm 
was rapidly traveling above the horizon of Woodchuck Town on 
the hill. Red Head was industriously hammering to get all the bugs 
he could before the rain would reach him and he would be com- 
pelled to put up for the night. 





“ Old Mr. Potter the beaver, was almost beside himself, he was so busy.” 

(Page 57) 



1 



¥mr 0 


OLD Mr. Potter the beaver, was almost beside himself, he was 
so busy looking after the building of a new dam on Deer Creek. 
Trees had to be cut and trimmed, grass and mud to be gathered to 
make the dam water-proof, and everything prepared for a nice warm 
den for the winter, now almost at hand. One minute he was showing 
Tommy Potter how to cut a tree, so that it would fall in the proper 
direction; the next he was giving instructions to Susie Potter, as to 
the proper manner in which she should use her tail in plastering a 
crack shut. His children were too full of fun yet, to realize how im- 
portant it was that the dam should be well constructed, because they 
had always enjoyed the warmest of dens without thinking of how 
much trouble their parents had taken to make it so. 

Mrs. Potter was equally as busy, biting and pulling at a very 

( 57) 



Jim Crow Tales. 


large tree that leaned out over the stream, that she knew would make 
a good break to ward off the ice when the thaw and floods came in 
the spring time. Sometimes Old Man Potter would run up and do a 
little gnawing for her, just to show her that his teeth were as sharp 
as when he had first met her in Moose Bottoms. Then he would 
give her bits of advice on how many chips to gnaw off on the right 
side, and how many on the left, in order that she could make it fall 
just where she intended it should. 

The younger beavers had much to learn, to become as wise as 
their parents, and in spite of all that Mr. Potter could do, they would 
now and then daub on some mud that was entirely too soft, and not 
rightly mixed, or they would begin to cut down trees that were too 
far from the dam, and too large to be dragged to it by such small 
animals as they. 

“Slap, slap,” went Susie Potter’s tail, as she threw the mud be- 
tween the cracks of the logs and then washed her tail off in the water. 
She loved to paddle around in the water, but this was really work 
which she was obliged to do. “More grass there!” Mr. Potter 
would call out to her, when she became inclined to be careless, “a 
mouthful of that and a few small sticks — they will hold the mud. 
When it has dried a little, put on some more mud. Swing your tail 
harder.” When a crab caught her by the tail, and she cried “ouch,” 
she was scolded for wasting time. 


(58) 


Dispute Between Potter and Fine Fur. 


Tommy Potter also needed careful watching to see that he did 
his work of cutting trees rightly. He loved to hear them fall, and he 
sometimes forgot for what use they were to be put to after they 
were down. Mr. Potter seemed rather severe with the younger 
beavers for he gave them little time to sleep ; and when they did lie 
down for a nap they never knew at what minute they might be 
awakened by the elder beaver pottering around, giving some extra 
touches to parts of the dam he had forgotten during working hours. 
King Nibbler the cottontail, who was occupying his summer shed in 
Cattail Swamp, this season, said he thought it was a shame that the 
younger beavers were made to work so hard, while Beggar Tom the 
moosebird, advised Mr. Potter that he should take a little rest. The 
old beaver replied, however, that there would be plenty of time to 
sleep during the winter, and his answer was a good one. 

Mr. Potter was down inspecting a piece of work that had been 
done by one of the younger members of the family, and was giving 
it some extra slaps with his broad tail, when, “Crack!” down came a 
tree cut by Tommy Potter. It fell the wrong way, and the branches 
gave Mrs. Potter a terrible scraping. With a screech of alarm and 
pain she leaped on top of the dam, and ran down into a hole that had 
been left for a doorway. Mr. Potter looked up to see what was the 
matter, and when he saw where the tree had fallen, he was so angry 

(59) 


Jim Crow Tales. 


he cracked his teeth together, chattering like a monkey. Going 
over to the young mischief maker, who was still chewing at the stump 
as if he did not know when to stop, he began to scold Tommy: 



right side when you should have been gnawing on the left. Cut off 
those branches,” he continued, running along the fallen trunk of the 
tree and making an angry snap at each of the limbs. The young 
beaver set to at his duty at once, although he was tired gnawing and 
would rather have been playing in the pools and chasing the minnows 
out of their hiding places. 


Dispute Between Potter and Fine Fur . 


The beaver family and the muskrats that frequented the banks 
of Deer Creek, were not on good terms, because they had different 
ideas about their individual rights and duties. 

Mr. Fine Fur, the head of the muskrat tribe, believed that the 
more holes he bored in the banks of the creek the better it would be 
for himself and his companions. “Bore into every bank that has 
water underneath it,” was his advice to all that asked it. Then, too, 
he claimed a certain authority over Cattail Swamp, in the very center 
of which he and his family had a mound-hut of grass and mud in 
which they lived during the winter. 

He disputed Mr. Potter’s right to enter that swamp and carry 
off all the dry grass he thought he might need. When he went over 
to the beaver dam, and told the chief dam-builder about the matter, 
he was treated very shabbily. Mr. Potter said that he did not care 
to be interrupted in his work, while he and his family were so busy. 
The big muskrat was usually not quarrelsome, but he did dislike to 
see nice tufts of grass cut down in his own private swamp, and car- 
ried away to the beaver dam. It made the swamp a more dangerous 
place for the muskrats to live in, with fewer bunches of grass to hide 
under, when a mink or fox was after them. 

One very rainy evening, which all muskrats consider the finest 
kind of weather, Mr. Fine Fur took a run over to the beaver dam to 


Jim Crow Tales . 


see how the builders were getting on — also to fish out a few crabs for 
himself. When he came to the dam he saw the old beavers and the 
young beavers rushing in and out among the logs in terrible haste. Mr. 
Fine Fur stopped and sniffed the air to determine if there was any 
danger near. Detecting nothing, he climbed among the branches of 
one of the newly cut logs, but he soon found it unsafe for him to re- 
main there, for Mr. Potter rushed backward and forward, and there 
was danger of his being run over. The chief dam-builder’s face 
was bespattered with mud, and his tail was plastered with a coat of 
the same. He was too busy now to take time to wash himself. 

It made Mr. Fine Fur dizzy, to watch the dam-builder racing 
along the log so wildly, but being more curious than ever to inspect 
the beaver house and see how it was constructed, he moved along a 
little further and peeped down between the logs. There he saw 
Mrs. Potter and the little beavers up to their necks in water, daubing 
on mud just as fast as they could to keep out the water that was 
rushing through a break in the logs. “One of those young fellows 
must have done a poor job,” mused the muskrat. “I can see verv 
plainly that the grass and sticks were not put in properly. Old 
Potter did not do it, that is certain, because he knows better than that.” 

While the muskrat was observing the beavers at their work Mr. 
Potter rushed up and knocked him clear off the log on which he was 

(62) 


Dispute Between Potter and Fine Fur . 


squatting. The dam-builder had returned in his accustomed haste, 
with some brush in his mouth which he intended to put in the break in 
the dam. 

Mr. Fine Fur drew himself together in a jiffy, for he was filled 
with anger to the very tip of his smooth tail, now well covered with 
the mud the beavers had stirred up. Mr. Potter paid no attention to 
him, but just hurried on with the brush in his mouth. Then the 
muskrat crept between the logs, intending to show the dam-builder 
that he would not endure such indignities, and especially after the 
beaver had carried off whole bundles of the finest grass in his swamp 
which he now saw stuffed between the logs. Dropping down into 
the water he swam up and nipped Mrs. Potter in the leg with his 
sharp teeth. Immediately Mrs. Potter went after him with gleaming 
teeth. The younger Potters also showed fight. This was too much 
for the owner of Cattail Swamp, and he tried to get away as fast as 
he could by clambering up between the logs, but every cranny was 
stopped with grass and mud, save the opening which the beavers 
used as their door. 

After a merry chase around, through the beavers’ dam which 
contained many rooms, as the muskrat learned — for he got a nip in his 
hind legs in every one of them — Mr. Fine Fur reached the door and 
escaped into the swamp. The break in the dam was finally mended 

(63) 


Jim Crow Tales . 


with the aid of Mrs. Potter and the young beavers. That night the 
beavers slept sounder than they had since the dam was begun, for 
it was complete now, save a few finishing touches which could be put 
on at leisure. The young beavers were instructed to mix up a little 
more mud the next day, so as to make the dam thoroughly safe in flood 
time. 

The next day, when Tommy Potter was nosing around in Cat- 
tail Swamp, he noticed a sign on a huckleberry bush. The words 
made him tremble with fear. There just as high as the muskrat 
could reach, he had cut with his sharp teeth this warning to all 
beavers : 

NO MORE GRASS CUTTING 
IN THIS SWAMP! 

BY ORDER OF 

MR. FINE FUR THE MUSKRAT. 

The frightened young beaver on reading the warning, turned 
and ran home as fast as he could. Mr. Potter was just setting out to 
look for something to eat, when his son came along almost out of 
breath from running. “What is wrong now?” demanded the chief 
dam-builder. Tommy Potter soon told his story about the muskrat’s 
sign, and his teeth chattered with fear as he did it. 


(64) 


e 


Dispute Between Potter and Fine Fur. 


“What!” screamed the elder beaver, “who gave that fellow the 
right to be so bold ? I shall go at once and see him !” So off went the 
two beavers, along the trail of Cattail Swamp. 

Old Man Potter was surely not himself that day, or he would 
not have acted so foolishly. After hunting almost throughout the 
entire swamp for its owner, Mr. Fine Fur was found digging 
another hole on the bank of the creek. When the elder beaver 
cracked his teeth angrily together the muskrat leaped out of the 
tunnel he was excavating. 

“What do you mean by that sign ‘no grass cutting’ in this 
swamp?” asked the dam-builder, at the same time sitting up on his 
hind legs as if he meant business. 

The muskrat looked puzzled. But after lifting one of his hind 
legs, and scratching his right ear, and then biting off a chunk of mud 
that clung to his foot, he said he needed all the grass in that swamp 
for himself and that Mr. Potter by cutting so much down, was simply 
helping foxes and wolves to catch animals that lived in the swamp. 

“Why, Mr. Potter, soon I will not have a place to hide any more, 
and you know that there is no better grass to be found anywhere, 
for nest building. Just come with me and I will show you how this 
swamp is being spoiled for a hiding place.” 

Mr. Fine Fur led the beaver over to the edge of the swamp 


(65) 


Jim Crow Tales. 


wnere the younger beavers had been gathering grass and mud. They 
certainly had been very careless and wasteful of fine tufts, and when 
Mr. Potter saw it, he boxed Tommy Potter on the ear. “I shall see 
that no more of this kind of work is done,” said the elder dam-builder. 
“But I do demand the right to get grass in the swamp, and I shall be 
careful where I get it, so that you shall have no complaint hereafter, 
Mr. Fine Fur.” Mr. Potter, thinking of some addition he ought to 
make to his dam, hurried away with Tommy racing at his heels. 

While the search was being made for the owner of the swamp, 
it so happened that all the beavers were absent from the dam at the 
same time, a thing Mr. Potter had always warned his family against. 
Mrs. Potter and Susie were taking an enjoyable run through the long 
marsh grass at the other side of Cattail Swamp. Now at this very 
time, bold because he heard no angry chattering to frighten him 
away, a big crab who was hunting a place to hide himself in, backed 
up to the dam and began boring a hole into the mud and grass. He 
wanted to make it as round as possible so it would just fit his body. 
The crab’s head was disappearing from sight, when the water with 
a rush carried the crab inside the dam and sent him flying around in 
the beavers’ nest. This fellow with the claws was the cause of an- 
other break which the dam-builders would have to repair. When the 
nest was filled with water, the crab backed out of the hole he had 

( 66 ) 


Dispute Between Potter and Fine Fur. 


made and slipped away under the bank of the creek. His old home 
was good enough for him now. 

The crab got out of the dam, none too soon to escape the vengeance 
of the beavers, who soon returned and found their home flooded. All 
the dry grass they had dragged from the swamp was now soaked with 
water and they would have to carry new to take its place. Mr. Potter 
saw how foolish it was for him to be out quarreling with a muskrat, 
when he ought to have been home attending to his own affairs. He 
had broken one of the strictest rules of the beaver tribe, and now he 
had to pay the penalty by splashing out of his den as much of the 
water as he could, after having fixed the break that the crab had 
made. This took several days, and then the beavers washed their 
tails and faces and lay down for another snooze, being ready now for 
the coming of winter. 



( 67 ) 


arrow Escup© ®f 

fmj mi Proust TuHL 

“LET me remember,” said Piny the squirrel, “where did I put 
those last hickory nuts I got over there by Beaver Dam? There were 
twenty-five of them and not a dead one in the lot. Under that maple 
tree? No, that wasn’t the place. Too many chipmunks there. 
Every root is full of them, and everyone can smell a nut that is two 
feet under the snow. It must have been nearer the tree, under which 
I found them. I know that I put one lot under some leaves, three 
good jumps to the right of that woodchuck Sneezer’s den. But I 
want to leave them there. The chipmunks will not find them and 
they are right handy.” 

Piny jerked his tail, of which every hair was as finely dressed as 
an ostrich plume, as he counted over the articles he had stored for 
winter, to see if he had enough to last until springtime. But there 
was one lot that he had put away so secretly he could not recall their 

( 68 ) 



Narrow Escape of Piny and Proud Tail. 


hiding place. While frisking around on the limb below the hole to 
his den in a knotty maple tree, a feather floated down past him. 
“Hello,” he barked, “I guess I’ll add that to my nest. Looks like a 
jay-bird’s breast feather, and if it is, then it’s nice and soft. I need 
a few more such, to shut up that crack where the wind blows in on my 
head.” 

Piny turned, ran up the maple, and was crossing on a cedar 
bough, when he met Beggar Tom the moosebird, who was right in 
his path. Tom was trimming himself into shape for a long fly down 
the valley to tend to some matters of his own. 

“Piny,” said Tom, “If you were not so nervous, you would get 
along better. You are getting awfully careless! Last evening when 
I came by, you were sleeping in your den with your tail in plain 
sight. Now that will never do. It looked as though you had hung 
out a sign for Terrible Claws, the owl, to come and eat you whenever 
he had some spare time. That is as foolish of you as for Strong Legs, 
the cottontail, to go around cutting his name on trees, and doing it 
just as high as he can so that every person can see it.” 

“I wish you wouldn’t bother me with your advice, Beggar Tom. 
You have made me lose sight of that feather now.” 

“Oh, that was what you were after, was it? I just pulled that 
out of myself because it insisted on standing out instead of growing 

(69) 


Jim Crow Tales . 


close to my leg. You see, Piny, cold weather will soon be here, and if 
I let one feather do that the others would soon be at it, and I’d freeze 
my legs. You are welcome to have it for your feather bed, but what 
I’m telling you will be of more good to you than feathers. So sit 
down, and do not be dancing around so much.” 

But Piny was too busy a fellow to remain in one place very long, 
and before Beggar Tom finished speaking he was spurting along over 
the branches of a nearby birch in pursuit of the chipmunk which had 
run away with the coveted feather. His tunnels in a log was all that 
saved the little squirrel from the vengeance of Piny’s sharp teeth, as 
he popped into one that entered a hollow log. Piny had to give up 
the chase, because he knew very well he could not catch the little 
ground squirrel in his tunnel. 

In a shaded clump of pine needles, away from the sight of small 
birds and squirrels that annoy, sat Terrible Claws the owl, who was 
awakened by the chattering of Piny. During warm weather he pre- 
ferred the shelter of branches, to the stuffiness of a hollow tree, as a 
place to snooze away the day time. He snapped the points of his 
beak together hungrily and clutched tighter the limb on which he 
was roosting. He had seen Piny frisking about, and decided that 
there was a very good meal in that squirrel, if he could only catch him. 
There was the hole to his den in the maple, and as soon as the sun 


(70) 


Narrow Escape of Piny and Proud Tail . 


went down below the trees he intended inspecting Piny’s quarters. 

On his return home, Piny met Proud Tail, another squirrel like 
himself; he was calculating, by counting the number of leaves yet 
remaining on the tree, about how soon the first snow would fall. 
Jack Frost had already nipped the stems of most of the foliage, and 
from Proud Tail’s figurings, real winter was but a few weeks dis- 
tant. “What do you say,” he asked Piny, “are we going to have a 
hard winter?” 

Piny felt the fur on his side, and replied, “I don’t think so. I’ve 
had a great deal thicker coat than this, many an autumn. I reckon 
that we shall have a rather heavy fall of snow, but I do not think it 
will freeze the nuts in our den, like it did last winter. However, I’m 
laying in a good supply of feathers and wild cotton.” 

“I don’t like to have my den stuffed with feathers all summer,” 
said Proud Tail. “It makes me have bad dreams. Last night, after 
I had come home with several feathers that I found in an old robin’s 
nest, I laid my head down on them for a few minutes and I dreamed I 
was in the claws of a hawk. When I woke up I found an ant biting 
me in the nose.” 

“That is a sign, Proud Tail, that there is danger near at hand. 
Those ants are not scurrying around because they want to, but be- 
cause some enemy is after them. You should have gotten right up 


Jim Crow Tales. 


and investigated. There must have been a weasel close by. It might 
have been a mink, for you know it is time for them to be coming 
downstream. The frosts are getting stronger every morning; I can 
feel it in my fur when I go out after chestnuts. Did you hear that 
hickory nut fall just now? It must have been a big one by the way 
the leaves rattled.” 

“I’m not looking for any more nuts,” replied Proud Tail, “I’ve 
got all I can eat this winter already stored. I always count the long 
hairs in my tail, and just as many as there are of them, just that many 
nuts I collect. What is the use, Piny, of having more than you can 
eat, and then be compelled to roll them out of your den in the spring, 
when the worms get at them. If you have a large number of hairs 
in your tail in the fall, then there is going to be a long winter and 
you will have put away all you can eat.” 

“But, Proud Tail, you can never be sure just how many the 
worms will get at, before you may be ready in the spring to go out 
after something. Only last night I threw away a chestnut, that I was 
sure was good when I put it away. There! Didn’t you hear an- 
other nut fall? Come on, we’ve got to get that before the chipmunks 
are after it. Those fellows have gotten enough already to do them, 
and why should we permit them to spoil some more by putting them 
away in their musty damp cellars?” 


Narrow Escape of Piny and Proud Tail . 


Piny was inclined to be greedy, although he knew he had more 
nuts stowed away than he would be able to consume, but he did not 
like to see anyone else get them. Proud Tail was loath to go, be- 
cause he would rather have hunted up some secret place where he 
might enjoy the warmth of the sun’s rays and a quiet snooze. But 
there was no holding Piny, who danced nervously about, every time 
he heard the slightest noise. So together they hurried off in the 
direction of the big hickory nut tree. 

Terrible Claws, the snowy owl, was all this time watching the 
movements of the squirrels. He was so anxious to get at them, he 
could hardly keep from cracking the points of his beak together and 
betraying his hiding place, when they skipped along beneath the 
spruce tree on which he was sitting. His sharp claws opened and 
shut on the limb with a terrible grip. They broke the bark, which 
dropped down and caused the noise that Piny had taken for the fall- 
ing of nuts. The owl was really luring them on, and he hoped very 
soon to feel their furry coats between his claws. Had not Piny been 
too anxious and greedy, he would have been told by his sharp ears 
that it was not nuts he heard falling. 

Piny and Proud Tail sat upon a stump, and barked away in con- 
versation until they should hear again the rattling in the leaves. But 


Jim Crow Tales . 


all was quiet now except the chattering of numerous chipmunks, 
perched on stumps and running in every corner. They were shrewd 
little fellows, with coats as shiny and fine as silk. No member of the 
forest’s inhabitants were neater or cleaner than they, even though they 
did live in hollow logs and the roots of trees. Their beds were of 
the warmest grass and driest leaves, which were gathered during the 
heat of the summer. 

“Here is one of their dens,” said Piny, looking down into the 
center of the hollow stump. “I’ve seen that old chipmunk Stripes 
drag more than ten nuts in here during one day alone. I wish I knew 
where he has them stored. It certainly would be a rich find for our 
storehouses if we could get at them.” 

“I would never do such a thing,” replied contented Proud Tail. 
“The only time I ever did go into a chipmunk’s den, was that winter 
when my home was destroyed by a falling tree. But then I found 
enough covered over by leaves to keep me the rest of the winter.” 

Just then there was another rattling in the leaves, and Piny and 
his companion jumped around to see where it was. It was another 
piece of bark broken off the limb by the snowy owl, who with a swoop 
darted down after the squirrels. There was no place for them to es- 
cape, but into the hollow stump, down in the heart of which Stripes 
the chipmunk had his den. Proud Tail was the first to disappear in 


Narrow Escape of Piny and Proud Tail. 


the hole, and Piny came after. Their big bodies were tightly 
squeezed in the narrow tunnel, and they could barely wriggle along. 
The owl missed them, but he held them cap- 
tives; for they were afraid to descend down 
into the heart of the stump. Two bright eyes, 
like little electric lamps in the dark were fac- 
ing Proud Tail. “It must be a 
weasel,” shivered he. The teeth 
of both the pine squirrels chat- 
tered with fear. But it was not 
a weasel, as the chippering voice 
of Stripes, the chipmunk, assured 
them. “Come right this way,” 
said the little burrower, *‘my 
home is not so neat as it might 
be, and the best of my stores are 
put away for the winter, but I’ve 
got a few chestnuts here that I just 
found this morning. Come and help yourselves, Mr. Piny and Mr. 
Proud Tail.” 

Stripes guided the two red squirrels down along the root of the 
stump, which smelled more and more of earth as they went, and Piny 



Proud Tail was the first to disappear in the hole, 
and Piny came after. 


( 75 ) 


Jim Crow Tales . 


became suspicious. “We are not after nuts,” said Piny, “please do 
not take us down any farther. How can we get out to the old maple 
tree? I’d rather be chased by an owl, than be lost down in this ter- 
rible place. Oh my, I wish I could get a breath of fresh air.” 

“I do not mind this so much,” replied Proud Tail, “I lived in a 
stone heap one whole summer, and it was not half so nice as this. I 
could dig out of here in a few minutes.” 

Stripes led the way, going through a dark passage which had 
more terrors for Piny the farther he went. When a little pebble 
dropped from the roof of the tunnel he almost leaped on top of Proud 
Tail, and had he been outside he would have run and never stopped 
until he reached his den in the maple. Stripes brought them to a 
round nest, which he had hollowed out for his dining room in winter 
days. 

“You must stop a few minutes and try my acorns,” he said, root- 
ing up some leaves, and drawing out one of the choicest nuts he had 
found that fall, he began taking off the shell. 

“Oh, thank you,” said Piny, “I am not hungry. If you will just 
show me the way out of here, I shall always be grateful to you, 
Stripes.” 

But Stripes and Proud Tail instead of being in a hurry, as was 
Piny, sat down to nibble an acorn kernel. Piny danced about, soil- 

(76) 



“The opening to his den was darkened by a head with a dreadful beak.” 

(Page 77) 











1 



Narrow Escape of Piny and Proud Tail. 


ing his fine bushy tail and bumping his head against the roof of the 
den. He could not be made to accept the invitation of the ground 
squirrel to sit down and have a few bites, and he had quite forgotten 
he considered Stripes a robber, who took the choicest of the hickory 
nuts from under the old tree which he guarded so jealously. Stripes, 
instead of heing the greedy fellow he was thought to be, by all pine 
squirrels, presented Piny and Proud Tail each with a large sweet 
chestnut, after he and Proud Tail finished nibbling their acorn, and 
then led them up through a narrow stairway which opened out into 
the air at the foot of a spruce tree. There bidding them “good bye,” 
he returned to his den to store away the nuts he had gathered that 
morning. 

Piny and Proud Tail both ran for their dens, unseen by the owl 
who was still sitting on the stump waiting for the prey that had es- 
caped him through the kindness of Stripes, the ground squirrel. The 
red squirrels did not venture from their homes any more that day. 
Towards evening Piny got up from his nap, and began putting his 
nest in order, when the opening to his den was darkened by a head 
with a dreadful beak. Terrible Claws had flown up to see if the pine 
squirrel was at home, and saw Piny in the act of digging from the 
corner of his storehouse several fine nuts which he intended present- 
ing to Stripes for the kindness shown him. 


Jim Crow Tales . 


When he was sure the owl had gone, he slipped down the old 
maple tree and dropped the big nuts he had sorted out, inside the hol- 
low stump where Stripes would find them. Upon each he had nib- 
bled with his teeth a message to the ground squirrel, “Come and take 
all the hickory nuts you want.” Never afterward did he interfere 
with Stripes, or become jealous of him when he saw the little fellow 
helping himself to the nuts under the trees. 



(78) 


ftronng L@g § 9 E§©ng)(g 

from Sly ffo§@ 9 § Tmjpo 

STRONG LEGS, a large, plump cottontail, was the governor 
of Blackberry Grove. As he hopped from his home, beneath a knoll, 
one fine winter’s evening, he struck the frozen ground at the door 
three hard blows, such as any other cottontail of the Grove would 
have been proud to make. Strong Legs had won his title, and en- 
forced his authority by the strength of his terrible jumpers. Many 
a proud young nibbler of clover, on becoming too saucy had been 
tumbled over by him. 

Strong Legs twisted his funny nose around and around. It was 
not capable of telling him much, save in the selection of sprigs to suit 
his appetite and to keep that body of his round and sleek. But his 
ears — he needed them every minute. The}'’ could tell him whether 
it was a foolish, chattering squirrel tapping a fresh nut, or Horn Ear, 

( 79 ) 



Jim Crow Tales . 


the owl, whetting the points of his beak; whether it was Beggar Tom, 
the moosebird, saucing a crow, or a thieving jay quarreling with 
some lonely songster on his way to new feeding grounds. But they 
had been especially well trained to report the presence of Sly Nose, 
the fox. 

It was three days since Strong Legs had begun his nap. Some- 
thing told him on the third day that there was going to be a thaw, and 
he had better be out looking for choice sprigs. The craving in his 
stomach had grown into an ache while he slept. A few nips of sassa- 
fras would do him a heap of good before he looked for a full meal. 
Where was he to get them? 

Strong Legs hopped slowly down the little trail which led from 
his home. Then he came to three roads from which to choose. One 
went straight to Cattail Swamp, where he sometimes spent nice winter 
days beneath bunches of grass, roofed over with arches of snow. 

Another road went straight to Woodchuck Town on the hillside ; 
and a third, used mostly in summertime, went down to a rich land 
where grew in springtime sweet clover and many other tender and 
juicy grasses tempting to the appetites of all cottontails. Blackberry 
Grove had many streets, just like any city, only not so straight. Be- 
sides the public roads, there were many little by-paths and secret 
ways, whose puzzling windings Sly Nose could never unravel, al- 

(80) 



“ Strong Legs, a large, plump cottontail.” 

(Page 79) 



Strong Legs ' Escape from the Trap . 


though he had sniffed his nose sore many a time in the attempt. These 
led around to hidden quarters in old logs, quiet resting places in brush 
heaps, and little nooks where the sun peeped in on lounging cotton- 
tails. 

Now the road to Cattail Swamp, Strong Legs dared not take; 
for on it, freshly made, were the round prints of Sly Nose’s feet. 
“He’s down there nosing around. How foolish he is to think anyone 
would have been cramping his legs under a bunch of grass during 
these three days of snow storm.” Thus mused Strong Legs. 

The trail to Woodchuck Town led to only a barren hillside, in 
which were now sleeping all the inhabitants of the village. “A fool- 
ish set anyhow,” thought Strong Legs, who did not have a great liking 
for those winter-sleepers. 

So now there remained but one road for Strong Legs to follow. 
Hopping leisurely along, he started in the direction of the clover- 
patch, keeping a close watch all the while for a little sassafras, of 
which his stomach was sadly in need. He had not gone very far, 
until he came to the lane leading to Mr. Nibbler’s quarters in a stone 
heap. Nibbler himself sat at the head of the lane, looking rather sad. 

“Thump!” went Strong Legs’ right jumper. “Thump!” went 
Mr. Nibbler’s left hind leg. This was their evening “how do you 
do.” 


Jim Crow Tales . 


“How are things hereabouts?” asked Strong Legs, hopping up to 
Nibbler in a familiar way. 

“None the best, none the best,” replied Nibbler sourly. 

“Haven’t had so much trouble since 1 left Timothy Bottom. Those 
squealing kangaroo-mice have been rushing in and out, boring holes 
in the snow, and letting the cold air into my home these past three 
days. I believe the cold has affected me,” and Nibbler stretched 
back his hind legs, to see if there were any pains. 

“If I were you, Nibbler,” said Strong Legs, squinting out of the 
corner of his eye in a wise manner, “I’d move out of that stone heap. 
You are very welcome to occupy my old quarters under the cedar 
stump. Of course, the bed is only of grass, which one of those 
woodchucks brought from Cattail Swamp, but it’s warm. I lived in 
there one whole winter. You no doubt remember when Sly Nose 
and his sneaking companions came and dug out many of our homes. 
That was — .” Strong Legs was just about to begin the narrative of 
some exciting times when, “Hi, hi, you grass devourers!” screeched 
Beggar Tom the moosebird, who was sitting on the branch of a tree 
under which the Messrs. Cottontail were conversing. “Now what 
are you two fellows doing here? I’d advise you to make those hind 
legs of yours carry you out of here just as fast as they can.” 

Beggar Tom delivered this piece of advice while stretching his 

(82) 


Strong Legs 9 Escape from the Trap . 


head down through the foliage of the branch on which he was sit- 
ting. 

Strong Legs and Nibbler moved off through the forest, while 
Beggar Tom continued scolding about evening prowlers. Tom was 
really one of the kindest birds of the forest. Whenever a hunter 
came into the woods, Tom would go and make friends with him im- 
mediately. By thus doing he received many a good meal, which was 
placed outside the hunter’s cabin for the bird. Although it was 
said of Tom that he sometimes slipped an egg or two from another 
bird’s nest, he had really declared himself the enemy of robbers. 

“I guess I’d better see after those fellows,” said the moosebird, 
after the cottontails had gone away, “or they will be getting into 
trouble.” 

“Hold,” said Nibbler, after he and his friend had circled around 
among the pines, the spruce and the balsams, “I do believe that I 
smell fresh pine-needles.” 

“So do I,” replied Strong Legs, “and there they are!” Together 
they hopped across the ice of a little stream, and began nibbling at a 
branch, which, being heavily laden with snow, hung close to the 
ground. 

“Doesn’t it seem strange that Old Man Cotton should still insist 
on living in that hollow spruce tree?” said Nibbler, referring 

(83) 


Jim Crow Tales . 


to a queer old cottontail who lived both winter and summer in a 
log. 

“Very strange indeed,” replied a voice in the wood nearby. 

Strong Legs and Nibbler squatted close to the ground. Their 
jumpers quivered, being ready for a terrible leap. 

“Don’t get scared,” said the voice again, “but come right in and 
help yourselves. I’m not going to pull your short tails, but I wouldn’t 
mind having a little of your fur to keep my feet warm. I’ve just 
finished dining and you are welcome to what remains.” 

Thereupon there stalked from the bushes Sable Prowler, the 
raven. His beak bore many traces of the feast he had been having 
all the day. He had gorged himself so full that he could not spread 
his wings to fly, but strutted along, dragging his tail in the snow. 

“That’s you, is it?” queried Nibbler. 

“Yes, that is me. But is that you Nibbler and Strong Legs? 
Come closer that I may look into your faces. Ah, I can see now. 
You know, my eyesight is becoming very poor.” 

The truth was that the raven had been so greedy and had sunk 
his beak into the feast so far, that his shrewd eyes had become filled. 

“How does it come, Mr. Raven, that you are roosting on the 
ground? Rather bare feet you have got to be standing in the snow,” 
said Strong Legs. 


(84) 



“‘IIo, Ho, good evening, gentlemen!’ said Mr. SI y Nose.” 

(Page 86) 





























































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Strong Legs’ Escape from the Trap . 


“Oh, you see gentlemen, I don’t mind the cold at all when I have 
plenty to eat. But for what are you prowling around? I’m sure 
there is no pennyroyal-tea hereabouts.” 

“We’re looking for some sassafras,” said Strong Legs. 

“Sassafras. Ha, ha, ha!” wheezed the raven. “Sassafras! How 
funny that must feel in one’s stomach! But where are you making 
your homes now? It’s been a long time since I have seen either of 
you.” 

“We’re staying in Blackberry Grove,” replied Strong Legs. 

“Mr. Fox has been anxious to make your acquaintance this long 
time. He’s a good fellow, only he gnaws his bones so awfully clean,” 
said the raven. 

The mention of Sly Nose made the Messrs. Cottontail shake their 
heads in horror. But when Sable Prowler waddled up to Strong 
Legs and began wiping his dirty beak on the cottontail’s furry coat, 
Strong Legs turned about and gave the raven such a hard blow with 
his hind legs that the latter rolled over and over in the snow. This 
rude shock awakened the raven from his stupor. 

Sable Prowler jumped to his feet in anger. At the same time 
there was a chattering laugh behind the cottontails and upon turning 
themselves about they saw Sly Nose looking at them with gleaming 
eyes. He was right at the point where the Messrs. Cottontail had 
entered the thicket with the raven. 

(85) 


Jim Crow Tales . 


Strong Legs and Nibbler started to run. Their big legs stirred 
up flurries of snow, as they went around and around looking for a 
way of escape. But on all sides were steep walls, save where the 
grinning fox stood. Now they knew they were in his trap, from 
which a cottontail was never known to have escaped. 

“Ho, ho, good evening gentlemen!” said Sly Nose to Strong 
Legs and Nibbler, who, when they found they could not escape, sat 
down in a corner panting. “I’m glad to see that you gentlemen of 
Blackberry Grove have come to visit me. I hope my friend, Sable 
Prowler, has invited you to dine with him?” 

“Oh yes, oh yes,” croaked the raven in his ugly manner. 

“However,” continued the fox, “you will not refuse, I am sure 
to take a few bites with me? Permit Sable Prowler to conduct you 
to the feast.” 

Sable Prowler stalked toward the cottontails, not to invite them 
to eat but to be eaten. While he was attempting to drive them 
around toward the fox, he came too close to Strong Legs, and again 
he went over before the cottontail’s jumpers. The cottontails knew 
that if they went near Sly Nose, who was guarding the door to his 
trap, they would soon be furnishing a feast for him, and Sable Prow- 
ler would then pick their bones. 

Sable Prowler now flew up in anger and began flapping and 


Strong Legs’ Escape from the Trap. 


pecking poor Strong Legs and Nibbler with all his might. Down 
he would dart at them, sinking his claws into them, and pulling out 
pieces from their warm coats. Slowly he was driving them around 
toward the open mouth of the fox and soon that terrible fellow would 
have had them between his jaws. 

“Ha, I’ll have those fellows now, that I’ve waited for so long,” 
laughed Sly Nose. But just at the moment he thought he had Nib- 



Messrs. Cottontail legging it off through the snow. 

bier under his paws, he felt something peck him on the nose. It 
blinded him with its flapping wings; it scratched like a cat. He 
rolled himself over and over in the snow to rid himself of the pest 
whatever it was. He struck at it with his fore feet, but it stuck to 
him like a stinging bee. By rubbing his head in the snow he at 

(87) 


Jim Crow Tales. 


length felt free of the flapping, pecking thing. However, just as he 
looked up he saw Messrs. Cottontail legging it off through the snow 
in the direction of Blackberry Grove. The fat feast had escaped 
him. 

There stood Sable Prowler, a sorry sight. His feathers were 
ruffled, and wet as if he had been in a rain storm. Who had done 
all the mischief? Mr. Fox sniffed and scratched the snow. “Ah,” 
said he at length. He had found a feather and it belonged to Beg- 
gar Tom the moosebird, who had befriended the cottontails. 


% 



( 88 ) 



“Chipper took his station on the watch-tower.” 

(Page 89) 



CHIPPER appeared at the entrance to Hole Number i, Sassa- 
fras Street, Woodchuck Town. There were half-a-dozen younger 
heads in sight further up the hill. A sharp whistle from Captain 
Chub, in Sycamore Avenue, brought everyone to a squat of attention, 
in honor to Old Chipper, the veteran well digger who had just 
awakened from his sleep. 

Chipper took his station on the watch tower, formed of gravel 
which he had excavated from his den, and motionless as the old tree 
snag, beneath whose protecting roots he had burrowed, viewed hill 
and valley, Cattail Swamp and Moose Bottoms beyond. The old 
chuck was cautious, and if a cattail-stem nodded the least bit, his 
bright little eyes were fastened upon its movements to note anything 
suspicious of an enemy’s presence. 

( 89 ) 


Jim Crow Tales. 


Hark! Every short tail jerked ; every body was faultlessly erect 
to Chipper’s whistle of danger. “Right about! In with you!” was 
the order, and every chuck disappeared in his home. Chipper was 
over cautious because he was hungry. When he had a full stomach 
and was sleepy, he would not have paid any attention to the “rat-tat” 
of a sap-sucker, that had now sent him and his neighbors so quickly to 
cover. 

After a silence of a few minutes all heads appeared again. 
“Rump-ta-tat-phit-thump.” Fussy, of Number 5 Sassafras Street, 
had carelessly started a stone down the hill which caught Old Chip- 
per on the head. 

“Chat-t-t-t-t-tr-r-r, C-c-c-c-e .” The anger of Chipper was 

up, against his neighbor. “What’s the matter with you, you fumbler? 
Will you never learn how to take care of those feet of yours?” chat- 
tered he. ^Clean those stones away from your hole now. What 
business have you to be throwing the dirt outside your home so care- 
lessly?” And Chipper ran up to an elm sprout and nipped off some 
bark to stop an itching on his nose caused by the bite of a bluebottle fly. 

Fussy danced about, obeying orders, getting more dirt on his 
face and legs than he cleared away. Fussy was a constant source of 
worry to Chipper throughout the entire summer, because he was al- 
ways doing something contrary to woodchuck regulations and pru- 


Chipper the Woodchuck. 


dence. His den had more galleries and rooms than a meadow mouse 
haunt, but not one of them had the finishing touches that Chipper 
always gave to his work. He could dig a hole quicker than anyone 
else in Woodchuck Town, and struck gravel every time; this soaked 
up the water that ran in during a heavy rain. 

While all woodchucks are born with a certain knowledge of how 
to sink a home, there was many a trick that Old Chipper had learned 
by experience. For instance, he always said that when you are look- 
ing for a site on which to excavate a home for summer, follow a fence 
well hedged with blackberry bushes and you’ll always come to some 
wild-cherry sprouts, and maybe a heap of stones that the farmer threw 
up against them. Then start the hole right down at the side of the 
fence. First dig a shallow one out toward the field. Then come 
back and sink a much deeper one around under the stone heap and 
wild-cherry roots. That’s the one to live in. The hunter will al- 
ways dig along the shallow one. 

A feeling of hunger, bothering the stomach of Chipper, he de- 
cided to go over and see how the young clover was coming on at the 
other side of Blackberry Grove. A few snips of pennyroyal gathered 
along the way would brace him up somewhat. 

Running along under the cover of briar tangle and fallen limbs, 
he struck the main street of the grove, just as Strong Legs the cotton- 


Jim Crow Tales. 


tail nodded off to sleep beneath a tuft of grass which screened him 
from observation, besides gathering the heat of the sun’s rays. “If 
there ever was a foolish lot it’s those cottontails,” said Chipper, spying 
Strong Legs asleep. I’ve often warned that fellow against such 
habits. Why, any hunter could come along and pick him up and put 
him in a bag before he’d get awake.” 

The woodchuck approached close to Strong Legs’ bungalow, and 
was commenting on the carelessness of the cottontail, when a long, 
powerful leg, with some pretty sharp claws, shot out and punted the 
woodchuck over on his side. It was done so quickly that Chipper 
hardly knew how it happened. Strong Legs, leaping from beneath 
the tuft, was facing him, ears thrown forward in fighting attitude, 
when Chipper got himself straightened out. On seeing who it was, 
the cottontail was sorry because Chipper had turned over to him 
many a nice comfortable den on the hillside, which would have cost 
him long days of labor to dig. 

“I’m sorry,” said Strong Legs; “I thought it was one of those 
prying chipmunks, when I felt that grass tickle my right ear.” 

“I want you to understand, Strong Legs,” chattered the angry 
woodchuck, “that I haven’t got time to go around tickling other peo- 
ples’ ears. You needn’t make any excuses to me. I suppose this is 


Chipper the Woodchuck. 


the reward I get for letting you sleep in that den of mine under that 
stone heap, over there at Crow’s Nest?” 

“Indeed, Mr. Chipper, I’m grateful to you, and if you’ll listen 
to me I’ll explain to you how I knew there was someone behind me. 
You see, when you bumped against that blackberry stem, you awak- 
ened me. Now, while I don’t like spider webs, because they stick to 
my nose and fur, they’re just as good as a telephone at times. That 
one spun from the blackberry stem to the roof of my summer house, 
shook the sprig that tickled my ear when you came by, and I was 
thinking it was a chipmunk and I did want to punish that fellow.” 

“Yes, and if it had been Terrible Claws, the owl, instead of me, 
he’d be eating you now. Danger is pretty close when it tickles you 
in the ear, Strong Legs. I wouldn’t sleep in that grass shack of yours 
for five meals of spring clover. Why, every fox in this section would 
know how to find you under that.” 

“Yes, but every fox, Mr. Chipper, knows where you sleep, and 
just at what time of the day you go out to take your meals and he can 
lay for you. It was just yesterday that I saw Sly Nose hiding behind 
that heap of brush above your home. He was licking his chops, and 
if it hadn’t been for the bothersome flies that buzzed around his nose, 
he would have waited until he had got you. S-s-t, what was that?” 


Jim Crow Tales . 


Strong Legs and Chipper both sat upright on their hind legs, at a 
noise like a fox bounding along through the brush, but which was 
really some partridges dusting themselves in the depths of the thicket. 
A spider which had been laying its eggs on the under side of a leaf, 
and sewing them in with its web, crawled up over the back of Strong 
Legs, stretching out the web as it went. This became entangled in 
the cottontail’s fur. Strong Legs felt something on his back and 
leaped into the air to shake it off. After him came the fluttering leaf. 
The big rabbit was almost scared into a fit, and with a mighty leap 
he cleared his summer home and went dashing away through Black- 
berry Grove like mad. Chipper, thinking that the cottontail had 
seen a fox, followed in the best manner that he could. The flutter- 
ing leaf on the tail of Strong Legs was his guide, and the two cut cir- 
cle after circle around through the thicket. 

Strong Legs squeaked with alarm every time he looked back and 
saw the fluttering leaf. Chipper panted for the want of breath, but 
he was determined not to be left by the rabbit. Away they went, past 
cottontail lanes and streets, summer houses and sunning-sheds. Over 
they went upon King Cotton, who was washing his hind leg into 
respectability. He too joined the race. Owing to the shortness of 
his legs Chipper got behind sometimes, but he made up by cutting 
across, instead of going around in a circle, cottontail style. By the 


Chipper the Woodchuck . 


time they had gotten five times around Blackberry Grove there were 
at least half a dozen other cottontails in the merry chase, Strong Legs 
still in the lead with the flag on his tail, and Chipper still in the rear. 
But the latter had no longer any chance of keeping up with a crowd 
of terror-stricken cottontails. “Highty-tighty, highty-tighty, old 
man, what is all this circus performance about?” called someone to 
Chipper as he passed through under Grapevine Swing. He stopped 
and looking up saw Slim Nose, the raccoon, out on the front porch of 
his den in the oak. “What in the world is the matter with you, Chip- 
per? You’ll have the aches so bad tomorrow morning you won’t be 
able to stretch those hind legs of yours, without crying ‘ouch.’ How- 
ever, twenty swipes with the tongue and a little pokeberry juice will 
make that all right. But what were you racing after those cotton- 
tails for?” 

“Strong Legs said he heard something suspicious, and I was 
willing to believe him because my hearing isn’t as good as it used 
to be.” 

“Why, do you know, Chipper, that big cottontail had the cause 
for the whole affair hanging to his own tail. I got a scare once, in 
just that very manner. Strong Legs will soon have Sly Nose after 
him, and then he’ll have to run. But, do you know, the new corn is 
coming on finely; it won’t be another week until wd can have what 


Jim Crow Tales . 


I call real good eating. I’ve been having nothing but crickets and 
June bugs for the past month. Frogs legs were awfully scarce this 
year. If you want to enjoy a good sight just take a walk down to the 
corn patch.” 

“I think I’ll go down and get a little clover,” replied Chipper, 
“I don’t feel just like myself after taking that long run.” 

The coon went back into his den while the woodchuck trotted 
of! toward the clover patch. On the way he thought he would take 
a look into his chum Sneezer’s quarters. Sneezer chose to live in the 
forest, rather than have his home in Woodchuck Town where there 
were so many noisy young fellows to bother him. Chipper slipped 
through a thorn tangle and came out at Sneezer’s side door. Strange 
to say, he found that entrance filled up with dead leaves and sticks. 
Sneezer had evidently not used it for some time past. Chipper con- 
cluded that he would have to go around to the front door, but he 
did it very cautiously, for he suspicioned that something might not be 
right. Sneaking along as quietly as he could, he saw Sly Nose the 
fox, squatting above the den, ready to pounce upon Sneezer when- 
ever he should appear in his doorway. It was about time for Sneezer 
to take his regular sundown lunch of clover, and Chipper feared that 
before he could give his companion the signal of alarm the fox would 
have him between his teeth. The cold chills ran over the old chuck 


Chipper the Woodchuck . 



at the thought. He dared not make the slightest noise, for then the 
fox would be after him and there wasn’t a good hole on this side of 
Blackberry Grove that he could remember. 
He dared not clean out the leaves from the 
side entrance, for the fox would surely hear 
him. Once he almost decided to climb a tree, 
a thing which he seldom did, and sound the 
alarm, but that meant that he would have to 
remain up a tree all night, and it would be a 
question if he could hold on that long, as his 
claws were not made for climbing. 

Chipper raised on his hind legs at a fa- 
miliar sound. The fox 
pricked up his ears at the 
same and crouched lower 
behind his screen of 
leaves which had drifted 
above Sneezer’s den and 
prepared his muscles for 
a terrible spring that was 
intended to furnish him 

He saw Sly Nose the fox, squatting above the den. 3 . dinnei SUCh aS he had 


Jim Crow Tales . 


been longing for. A second chatter, just as if coming from his den, 
told Chipper that Sneezer was ready for his lunch, and that he was 
coming out. He expected the fox to spring any minute. But why 
was Sneezer so foolish as to announce to his enemy just when he was 
coming? Chipper could not understand that. An old chuck would 
never think of such a thing. “He might just as well come right out 
and invite the fox to come and eat him,” thought Chipper, half angry 
that Sneezer should be so foolish. The chattering continued, getting 
louder and louder, and the fox prepared himself for the fatal spring. 
Chipper just sat there on his hind legs, unable to think of a single 
thing that he could do to call off the fox. 

“Ch-hr-r-r-r-r-r.” The noise seemed to be getting awfully close 
to his ears. How could that be? Was Sneezer working his way out 
the side door? No, the leaves were motionless. The fox licked his 
chops while the old chuck puzzled his brain. “Your hearing is get- 
ting awfully bad,” said a voice which Chipper knew belonged to 
Sneezer. Chipper turned his head in every direction, but could see 

nothing of his old chum. Finally looking down at the roots of a dog- 

.3 *‘w J 

wood tree, right beside him, he saw the gray head of Sneezer ap- 
pearing in a ’possum nest. Chipper slipped over to the root. 

“Come in,” said Sneezer. 

“There isn’t room,” replied Chipper. 


(98) 


Chipper the Woodchuck. 


“Put in your nose and see.” 

The chief of Woodchuck Town climbed down into the ’possum 
nest, which to his surprise had been hollowed out by Sneezer along 
the root, and then down into the ground to his old quarters. 

“Did you ever see anything finer than this?” proudly asked 
Sneezer. 

“I will admit that I never did,” replied Chipper, in his wonder 
scratching an ear with his hind leg. “I see now why you don’t use 
that old side door any more.” 

“I wouldn’t be so foolish as to have but one door, Chipper. I was 
out this morning, and Sly Nose was sitting above that hole then. I 
brought back some dry marsh grass for a bed. Curl yourself up and 
try it.” 

The two wise old chucks snug and cosy, after satisfactorily plac- 
ing themselves on their couches of grass, chatted over affairs that in- 
terest woodchucks only, while they chewed some rare, sweet roots, 
that Sneezer had brought from his storehouse in a corner of his den. 



( 99 ) 


L. or c. 



“WELL, WELL; I do believe that here comes old Grumbler !” 
remarked Shrewd Eye, the raven, as he jerked up his head at a slight 
noise made by a grizzled bear that came shuffling along. Shrewd 
Eye had not yet shaken the dew from himself, for it was early in the 
morning and the first pine squirrels were just tuning up their voices 
for a good chatter. 

“Can that really be you, Grumbler?” asked the raven in an un- 
certain tone, when the bear had almost reached the tree upon which 
he had roosted during the night. 

A surprised grunt from the bear and a look from the bird at the 
pointed nose, as he turned it up to see who was talking to him, told 
the raven that he was right in his guess. No one could mistake that 
snout after they had seen it once, for it looked shrewd and slender 


( IOO ) 



“ ‘ Well, well, I do believe that here comes old Grumbler!’ remarked Shrewd Eye.” 

(Page ioo) 














































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































Shrewd Eye Tries to Fool the Bear 


enough to hunt out every secret corner of an ant town or smell a bees’ 
nest a long distance off. 

“What makes you so poor?” queried Shrewd Eye; “you must 
have starved since you left these woods at the beginning of winter. 
That hair of yours looks worse than that on a bull moose when he is 
angry. And, your nose, I never saw it look so pointed.” Hereupon 
the raven began to laugh until the forest rang with that shrill voice 
of his. 

Shrewd Eye had some reason for being surprised at the appearance 
of Grumbler, for he certainly wore a sorry looking coat. The old 
reddish hairs had not been shed yet, and they stuck from his sides and 
back like the quills of a porcupine. His nose was well plastered 
with earth and decayed wood, for he had been searching in every old 
log that he came across, for bugs and ants ; but his terrible appetite re- 
fused to be sated. It was only too true that he had not had a good 
meal since he had left that part of the forest and gone further south 
in search of dens in which to spend the winter. 

The winter was a cold and long one, and Grumbler had slept 
throughout the entire time, save a few hours during a thaw, when he 
had left his den in search of a bite to eat, or to see what were the signs, 
if there were any, of the coming spring. Not so many days before 
this he had left the cave in the rocks, and was now hunting food. He 

( IOI ) 


Jim Crow Tales. 


knew very well that there were no berries yet, but he thought that in 
the sunshiny spots the ants ought to be out working; and possibly he 
might find a bees’ nest that would have some honey left over from last 
summer. 

“Well,” said Grumbler in a wise way, for hunger always makes 
a wise bear wiser than ever, “since I appear so slim to you, suppose 
you jump down and help me find something to eat. It looks to me 
as though you ravens did not overfeed yourselves during the cold 
weather, for not one trace of a bone have I seen, that you have had 
a chance to pick. Your friends, the wolves, must have had strong 
appetites of their own, or been less kind to you, than you claimed.” 

With that Grumbler began tearing the bark off a dead tree. He 
licked his mouth satisfactorily when he scooped in with his long 
tongue almost the entire population of an ant town, besides several 
fat young bugs that had crept out to begin their borings. 

“Oh, no,” exclaimed the raven, in answer to the invitation of 
the bear, “things that you like and things that I like, you see, are 
so very different in kind, that I fear I could not suit you in the choice 
of food that I would make. My eyes and nose were fitted for an 
entirely different purpose than yours. However, one thing I know 
to be true, and that is, that you like honey. If you wish to know, I 

(102 ) 


Shrewd Eye Tries to Fool the Bear. 


can tell you where you can find a rich store of it, for I saw swarms of 
bees coming and going at the tree.” 

When the raven mentioned honey, the bear ceased his search for 
ants and bugs, for fear the raven would say something that he might 
not hear. Grumbler was a great lover of honey, ever since the time 
his mother had robbed a bees’ nest in Beaver Valley and he had se- 
cured his first taste of the sweets. 

“Why, of course, Mr. Shrewd Eye, I would be glad to know 
where the tree is that you speak of. If you will be so kind as to tell 
me, I shall repay the debt when I become strong again, and have this 
terrible appetite of mine satisfied.” 

Grumbler spoke as politely as he knew how, for he would have 
given anything just then for a taste of honey. But he knew that the 
raven was a wise fellow, and sometimes did not always tell the truth. 

Shrewd Eye was by this time feeling quite important that he was 
able to say something to interest so great a fellow as the bear. Ever 
since Grumbler had insulted him down in Moose Bottoms, when he 
was picking choice morsels from the bones of a deer that the wolves 
had killed, he had desired to settle accounts with the bear. Grumbler 
had shamed the raven for eating so greedily, and now here was the 
bear just as greedily licking up ants and all kinds of bugs. This was 
his opportunity to fool the bear. 


( 103 ) 


Jim Crow Tales . 


“Mr. Grumbler/’ said the raven, prinking several of his feathers 
that had become ruffled, “it pleases me very much to tell you about 
the honey. But, of course being a poor raven that must hunt for a 
living both winter and summer, and not being able, as do you, to 
sleep through the cold winter days, I feel that I have the right of ask- 
ing just one favor of you.” 

“Certainly,” replied Grumbler, “I have always tried to be a good 
friend of the ravens. I have never taken anything that belongs to 
them, neither have I robbed their nests at any time, as so many other 
animals have done.” 

“Very well, Grumbler, can you tell me anything about the secrets 
of Silent Wing? You know he is the raven that always has plenty to 
eat, but no one knows where he goes to dine. What I want to know is, 
whether you have ever seen him in the act of picking any bones, and 
where he was while he was doing it?” 

A cunning look came into the eyes of Grumbler. He said he 
had seen Silent Wing, and knew just where he went to eat, sometime?. 
It was by the big elm the beavers had attempted to cut down. 

The raven nodded his head, for he knew the exact place of 
which the bear was speaking. “Now, in return for your kindness, 
Grumbler,” said he, “I will say that the bees’ nest of which I spoke, 
is in a hole in the old cedar, where many years ago, before he was 


( io 4 ) 


Shrewd Eye Tries to Fool the Bear . 


caught by Sly Nose the fox, Horn Ear the owl, had his sleeping 
place. You know where that is, Grumbler?” 

“Why, I could find that place without my nose or eyes. I’ve 
been over there many a time to take a bath in the wallow which is 
just to the left of that tree. I thank you very much, Shrewd Eye, and 
I hope I shall see you many times this summer. I must be going now 
for I expect to sleep in Sniffer’s old den tonight. It is not so very 
far from that bees’ nest and I can get up the next morning and have a 
good feast.” 

Just as Grumbler finished his parting speech, a peculiar noise 
came to the ears of both the raven and the bear. Another sort of a 
“sniff” caused them to look up in the tree on whose lower limb the 
raven was sitting, and they saw Mouser, an honest old screech owl, 
blinking his eyes. He had been awakened from his nap by the con- 
versation between the bear and the raven, and before he could speak 
had to sneeze out of his nose a little fur of the field mouse he had eaten 
the night before. 

“Who are you?” he inquired, in that quavering voice of his that 
makes children so afraid when they hear him at night. “Oh, yes, I 
can see plainer now. It is you. Shrewd Eye and Grumbler.” 

“This is a strange place for you to be sleeping in,” said the 
raven. “You certainly must have caught a cold, snoozing up there in 


( 105 ) 


Jim Crow Tales. 


the draft. Your screech is not half as loud as it is at night, when 
one would think you were as big as Terrible Claws, the snowy owl.” 

“I am feeling very well,” replied the owl in a knowing manner. 
“Five good fat mice, are more than I usually get in one night. I’d 
much rather take my naps in a bower these fine spring days, than be 
cooped up in some stuffy tree. But, speaking of hollow trees, Mr. 
Shrewd Eye, I think you must be mistaken about there being a 
bees’ nest in the one where Horn Ear used to live. The other night 



They both disappeared in the forest. 


I went in there to keep watch of a squirrel that was out rather late 
in the evening, and I found it a very dismal place. The bugs and 
woodpeckers had many holes bored into the den, so it is not even fit for 
a ’possum to live in. 

“I think that was the very night I met Silent Wing roosting in a 
cedar; he said he had got ready for a journey to the south where he 
knew he could find more to eat than in this part of the forest. So, I 


( 106 ) 


Shrewd Eye Tries to Fool the Bear. 


rather think, Mr. Grumbler, and I beg your pardon for disputing 
your word to the raven, that you must have been mistaken about your 
having seen Silent Wing recently.” 

Both the raven and the bear knew they had been caught telling 
things that were not true. Shrewd Eye jumped to another branch as 
if he did not hear the last remarks of the owl, while the bear began 
turning over some dead leaves with' his nose, apparently looking for 
bugs. Before Mouser could understand what was the matter with the 
two story-tellers, they both disappeared in the forest, taking opposite 
paths. 



( 107) 


®sA ©if 

L®iag ffos®. 

LONG NOSE, the alligator, was the shrewdest of all animals 
that lived in the vicinity of Blue Mud Swamp. Whether it was be- 
cause of his long nose, or because of his sharp eyes, that he was so 
cunning, no one exactly knew. At any rate, one after another of the 
cottontails in that region disappeared, and although Long Nose had 
never been seen in the act of capturing a rabbit, there was no doubt 
that he was the one to blame for the acts of murder. 

Mrs. Maria Cottontail was out walking with her family one 
day, giving her two children lessons, so that if they were ever pursued 
by an enemy they would know just where and how to escape by some 
secret path or trick. She was coming along the edge of the swamp 
pointing out to her boys, Thumper and Sleepy Eye, the tracks of a 

( 108 ) 



Death of Long Nose. 


Mr. Fox. “Beware of him,” said he, “for his legs will tire you, once 
he has whetted that awful appetite of his.” 

“But he’ll not catch me,” boasted Thumper. Thumper had re- 
ceived that name because from the time he first opened his eyes in a 
woodchuck hole, down in a clover patch, his jumping hind legs were 
very thick and strong. He delighted in thumping the ground with 
them, and had done it so often he could rival Mrs. Cottontail her- 
self in this strange use of his hind legs, which is practised by all mem- 
bers of the rabbit family. Thumper was almost as large as his 
mother, while Sleepy Eye was only a little chubby fellow, who liked 
to lie in the sunshine and snooze. 

“Be careful, my son, be very careful, that you do not come to grief 
by your boasting, for the foxes eat — O horrors! Can it be true that 
over there sits Long Nose the alligator?” screamed Mrs. Cottontail. 
Poor Sleepy Eye and his mother trembled like leaves, at sight of 
the knotty alligator, who was sitting in the marsh grass, holding his 
front feet in a pitiful manner, and shedding great tears. Thumper 
was not the least frightened, but began to beat the ground with his 
hind legs, as a small boy does his Christmas drum. He wanted to 
fight Long Nose, and it was all his mother could do to keep him 
from rushing at the monster alligator. 

“Booh-ooh-ooh,” continued Long Nose with his weeping, the 


( 109 ) 


Jim Crow Tales. 


large tears running down his ugly nose. “Oh, who will show me the 
way back to the water where I can bathe my poor roasting back? 
How foolish I was to wander so far away. Booh-ooh-ooh.” 

Now, while Long Nose was making all this fuss, he was keeping 
a sharp eye on Mrs. Maria Cottontail and her family. Sleepy Eye 
began to forget his fears when he heard the alligator talking so in- 
nocently. Even Mrs. Cottontail could not see any particular reason 
why the alligator should want to do anyone wrong, now that he was 
in trouble himself. But Thumper became more anxious than ever 
to fight Long Nose. 

“Come on, you old long-snouted coward,” shouted Thumper, 
beating the earth and hopping away from his mother and Sleepy Eye, 
who still sat in doubt, “there’s plenty of mud and water over this way 
for you to plaster that knotty nose of yours.” 

Long Nose winked out of the corner of his eye, as much as to 
say, “you will soon find it is more than mud and water I am after,” 
and he began waddling after Thumper in that slow, lazy gait of his. 

Mrs. Cottontail, and her son Sleepy Eye, did not have the cour- 
age to accompany Thumper, but hopped slowly in the rear of the 
alligator. Sleepy Eye by this time had his curiosity excited and went 
closer to the rough, horned tail of the swamp monster. He twisted 
his nose this way and that way in the attempt to make himself ac- 

( no ) 



■** 4 Ob horrors! Can it be true that there sits Long Nose, the alligator?’ screamed Mrs. Cottontail.” 

(Page 109) 




Death of Long Nose . 


quainted with all he could learn about the alligator. Long Nose 
seemed to pay no attention to the young cottontail’s examination, 
and Sleepy Eye went still closer. 

Mrs. Cottontail had just stopped for a moment to taste of a 
fragrant plantain leaf, when she heard a terrible “swish.” She looked 
around and Sleepy Eye was nowhere to be seen. Long Nose was now 
sitting upright, opening and shutting those jaws of his with much 
satisfaction. Poor Sleepy Eye had gone to fill a place in the alliga- 
tor’s stomach. His curiosity had led him too near the alligator’s tail, 
and with one stroke of it Long Nose had swept the young cottontail 
around into his wide-open mouth. 

Poor Mrs. Cottontail panted with grief at the loss of her son. 
She ran she knew not where. Those strong hind-legs of hers carried 
her through the marsh grass at a great speed. At length, when she 
was out of breath, she drew herself together under the brown leaves 
of a thistle stalk. 

“Thump, thump, thump,” went a succession of sounds, which 
told Mrs. Cottontail that her son Thumper was near. Soon he came 
hopping by. He was furious with anger. He would make short 
spurts, and then strike his hind legs on the ground in a manner that 
made his mother tremble with fear. But this did not last long, for 

(no 


Jim Crow Tales. 


both Mrs. Cottontail and her son were hungry, and together they went 
searching for fresh clover. 

By this time, Long Nose the alligator, was back in his favorite 
sunning place, on a log near a slimy pool. He was so well satisfied 
with the result of his last scheme, that he paid no attention to the 
flies that sat on his very nose. At any other time they would have 
shared the fate of Sleepy Eye. Long Nose had just tasted of some- 
thing better than flies, and he intended to have some more of the same 
kind of food. So there he slept all the day, and only rose when the 
sun had gone down, and his back was becoming chilled by the evening 
breeze. Then he lazily let himself drop off the log into the pool. 

The next morning Long Nose was out bright and early, with an 
empty stomach and big hopes for another dinner like the one he had 
had the day before. So he went to the same spot on the edge of the 
swamp where he had caught the young cottontail, and was prepared 
to begin his wailings, should any foolish animal happen along that 
way. Long Nose had almost dropped off into a dream, when a 
rustle in the dead grass awakened him. Ha, there came the very 
object he was looking for — a fine, plump, young cottontail. Long 
Nose never paid enough attention to rabbits to distinguish them by 
their features, and so he did not know that this was Thumper, the 
fellow he had seen the day before. 


( 112 ) 


Death of Long Nose. 


Long Nose began to moan about his roasting back, and his being 
lost. “Booh-ooh-ooh,” he went, louder and louder. But Thumper 
did not pay any attention to him. Long Nose could not understand 
why, if the cottontail was asleep, he could not be awakened. At length 
he dropped down upon all fours and started toward the rabbit. 
Thumper did not move until the alligator was almost upon him, 
when he gave a short hop into the bushes. Long Nose continued to 
follow him. Thumper made another jump, when he thought the 
teeth of the alligator came too near for comfort. 

Thus the two moved on through the long grass of the marsh. 
Long Nose began to get irritated; he tried to flop his tail around and 
strike the cottontail. In this he failed, for Thumper always hopped 
out of reach. 

Now this part of the swamp was a tavorite place for muskrats, 
and many were the wells they had sunk there. Thumper came to one 
of these holes as he kept hopping away from the alligator. “I guess 
I’ll get you now,” said Long Nose, when he saw Thumper stop as if 
pondering whether he would leap across the hole or go around it. 
Slowly the alligator crept upon the cottontail, quietly pulling him- 
self along so he would not frighten his intended victim. 

Thumper could almost feel the hot breath of the monster behind 
him. He drew himself together for a big jump. The jaws of Long 


( ”3 ) 


Jim Crow Tales. 



Nose came together with a dreadful sound, 
but the teeth only struck each other. Again 
they grasped for the cottontail, and the alli- 
gator plunged down the hole, until but half 
his tail was left in sight, and this swung back 
and forth in the air. 

But where was Thumper? He was safe 
and sound! Out he hopped from another 
muskrat hole which was connected by a tunnel 
with the hole he had 
entered. He gave 
several sharp blows 
upon the ground 
with his hind legs, 
sniffed the air in the 
direction of the alli- 
gator’s wriggling 
tail, and slowly hop- 
ped away 
as if noth- 
i ng had 

The alligator plunged down the hole. happened. 


( ” 4 ) 


Death of Long Nose . 


It was in the evening of the same day, when Thumper and his 
mother came strolling among the muskrat holes, looking for choice 
sprigs of grass, when they saw the horned tail of Long Nose hanging 
limply to one side. The alligator was dead with his head sunk in 
the muskrat hole, from which he could not escape. Thumper and 
his mother hopped up to it, sniffed several times, and passed on 
to the hillside, where they knew there was some fresh, young clover. 



( ns) 



WITH a roar that made the mouse jump, and old Judge Bear 
blink his eyes, King Lion called the meeting to order. Cottontail, the 
secretary, read off the names, and all answered to roll call except Mr. 
Donkey, who took his place later. Mr. Dragon Fly, who then began 
his story, spoke very rapidly and never stopped but for a second or two 
now and then to take a breath. The audience did not dare go to sleep, 
for whenever Mr. Fly saw anyone who was not paying attention, he 
would jump right down from his seat on the timothy stalk, never stop- 
ping his story the while, and tap the sleeper on the end of the nose. 

The meeting had been called to settle a dispute between Mr. 
Skunk and Mr. Woodchuck about a den on the hillside. Woodchuck 
said he had done the digging, and had fixed for himself a snug bed 
of leaves and marsh grass, but every time he wanted to take a nap 


( ” 6 ) 


Woodchuck's Victory. 


Mr. Skunk came snooping around, and sometimes even dared to 
flop himself down in the bed to which he had not the least claim. 

But the real cause of the trouble was, as Mr. Woodchuck ex- 
plained, that Skunk had about himself the odor of something which 
made the Woodchuck very faint, just as when he ate too much clover. 
No matter how often he chewed of a choice medicine weed that 
grew down by the marsh, he could not rid himself of the ugly smell. 

Mr. Skunk presented his side of the question, also. That very 
den which the Woodchuck said was his by right of digging, he, the 
said Mr. Skunk, claimed had been dug a long time ago, and he had 
gone in now and then, made the den larger, scratched out new rooms 
and pushed out, with much trouble, the stones and dirt that had 
fallen down; while Mr. Woodchuck was sunning himself along the 
hillside, or filling himself with juicy grass. Then, when he had 
grown fat and sleepy, he came back and picked out the choice hole 
in the hill, which was the den in dispute. 

To settle the dispute, Mr. Dragon Fly had been sent out to in- 
quire of the River Tribes their opinions on the matter, and having 
now returned, was reading what he had learned on the trip. When 
he stopped to take his first breath, the donkey, who was not very 
much concerned about the dispute, pointed his hoof in a taunting 


( "7 ) 


Jim Crow Tales . 


way at the Hippopotamus, while the latter was looking in the direc- 
tion of the river and wishing he were in its cooling waters. 

“I called on the Frog Family,” said the Dragon Fly, “and I 
spoke to the Muskrats; I inquired of the Sandpiper, and had a chat 
with the Otter. I don’t believe there is a single one of the River 
people I did not see. But Mr. Frog said that he did not have any 
time to idle away, as he was busy sinking a well, in which he ex- 
pected to stay when the days became cool and chilly. The Muskrat 
would not even take time to hear what I had to say, but went right 
on cutting down heaps of cattails and marsh grass, plastering them 
together with mud. The Sandpiper whisked his tail and started to 
run along the beach, holding up his head in a proud manner.” 

Here Dragon Fly caused a little disturbance by waking up Mr. 
Hedgehog, who had fallen asleep during the reading of the report. 
Mr. Fly being back again in his seat, so quickly that the Hog did not 
know who had disturbed him, the fellow with the quills began argu- 
ing with the Lizard. But King Lion roared for silence, and peace 
was once more restored. Dragon Fly proceeded: 

“After leaving Sandpiper, who said he never cared for com- 
pany, I looked across the river toward the marsh, and there saw Mr. 
Potter, Mrs. Potter and the whole family of little beavers rushing 
back and forth as if they had gone mad. Some were busy cutting 

(u8) 



“ King Lion called the meeting to order.” 

(Page 116) 










































Woodchuck’s Victory . 


down trees, others, using their tails as paddles, smoothed mud over 
the heaps of logs and grass they had collected. 

“That I might talk with Mr. Potter I had to keep flying along 
with him wherever he went, for not one moment would he waste, 
as he said, by stopping to listen to me. He could not understand why 
anyone should be so foolish as to quarrel over a little hole in the hill.” 

“ ‘Just look,’ said he, ‘at the home that I must build every year, 
for when the floods of spring come they break into our dams in spite 
of all we can do. I always get the best of mud, which can be found 
over there where the waters flow very slowly. This, when dry, 
keeps out the water. But almost every year we are compelled to 
leave our dens, for the warmest ones are far down underneath the 
grass and logs. Sometimes, too, that Mr. Beaver, who lives down 
where the river makes a bend, gets into trouble, when the ice and snow 
are frozen over his den. Then he brings his family up here, and we 
live together.” 

“ ‘But,’ said I, ‘how about Mr. Skunk and Mr. Woodchuck?’ ” 

“Just at that moment, a tree fell, having been cut by one of the 
younger beavers, and I was glad to get out of the way. I was so 
tired out, by trying to keep up with Mr. Potter as he went about his 
work, that I set out for home.” 

By the time Dragon Fly’s speech was ended, many of his hear- 


( ”9 ) 


Jim Crow Tales. 


ers were very tired. Even King Lion began to yawn, for this was 
his sleeping time. Other members of the Night Tribe blinked their 
eyes, endeavoring to keep awake. The Cricket was the most attentive. 
He had kept both his ears wide open, and as he swung up and down 
on the blade of grass humming to himself now and then, he 
thought out a way to settle the dispute. 

When King Lion called for opinions there was silence, save 
for the snoring of Mr. Hippopotamus. Skunk and Woodchuck 
looked at each other with angry side glances. When Mr. Cricket 
saw that no one had anything to say, he jumped upon a tall timothy 
stem in front of King Lion and in his shrill voice said: 

“To settle the dispute between Mr. Woodchuck and Mr. Skunk 
let us go to the hillside, and the one of the two that can dig the deep- 
est hole while I count twenty, shall have the right to live in the old 
den.” As the Cricket finished speaking there were howls, and 
squeaks, and hoots of assent from the crowd. 

All was excitement. Mr. Fox barked and leaped with joy, at 
the expectation of seeing such sport. Even Mr. Owl opened his eyes 
and shook off the stupor that had taken hold of him. All made a 
rush for the hill and when everything was ready the signal was 
given by King Lion. 

Woodchuck and Skunk fairly flew at their work. They panted 
( 120 ) 



“‘Enough!’ roared King Lion, as Mr. Cricket chirped ‘twenty!'” 

(Page 1 21) 



Woodchuck's Victory. 


ana scratched. Woodchuck struck a root. He tugged a bit, and it 
looked as though he would be defeated. But the root was only a 
small one and he soon broke through it. He threw out the earth in 
almost one continuous stream. Sometimes he growled if he thought 
Mr. Skunk was getting ahead of him. 

Secretary Cottontail became so excited, that he himself began 
to dig, imagining what he would do in a race of the same kind. 

Mr. Lizard could not fully understand the sport, and just as he 
was looking down the hole to see what Mr. Skunk was doing, the 
latter threw out some fresh dirt into his eyes, which made him very 
angry. 

“Enough!” roared King Lion, as Mr. Cricket piped “twenty.” 
The Monkey with a cattail stem proceeded to measure the two holes. 
Mr. Woodchuck was declared the winner. That night poor Mr. 
Skunk slept in a hollow log that was cold and wet, but the next day 
he left to hunt another warm den down the river. 



( 121 ) 



FOR once all the animals were present at the meeting, although 
the owl had a hard time of it delivering the message to all of them. 
Mr. Owl, of course, thought the best time to do this work was in the 
night. So he flitted about, and almost hooted his throat sore trying 
to awaken those that were sleeping. But he worked like a good 
fellow, and now sat blinking his eyes sleepily, because he was tired 
and longed to be back in the old hollow tree where the sunshine could 
not hurt his eyes. 

Mr. Skunk and Mr. Woodchuck sat side by side, being now the 
best of friends, for both had become very fat and very sleek on juicy 
spring clover; so they were in good humor. Even the beaver (Mr. 
Potter), who is always busy, had been persuaded to leave his work 
at the dam, on the promise that if the meeting lasted too long, Mr. 

( 122 ) 


Trial of Mr. Hyena. 


Fine Fur, the muskrat, would help him do a little tree cutting. Mr. 
Bee, and all the insects, were in the happiest of moods. Their legs 
and bodies smelled of sweet perfume gathered from spring flowers. 

All were smiling except Mr. Hyena, who frowned in a terrible 
manner. He sat upon his haunches, sometimes grumbling to him- 
self and showing two rows of white sharp teeth. However, Mr. 
Hyena was never known to smile, because, as Dragon Fly said, he 
ate too rapidly and too much. The food only made him poor and 
ill-natured. Almost all the other animals were afraid of him, so 
they left him sitting alone. 

It was on Hyena’s account that the meeting had been called. 
He had been getting into all kinds of trouble with the beasts of the 
forest, and of the field, by his sneaking manner. 

“Well,” roared Judge Lion, licking off the remaining traces of 
a good meal, he had had that morning, “What shall be done with 
Mr. Hyena? He has complained to me that certain of you have been 
mistreating him, just because his face is ugly. Mr. Cottontail, it is 
said that you are one of Mr. Hyena’s enemies. What have you to say 
for yourself?” 

Hereupon Mr. Rabbit stretched one of his hind legs, then struck 
it upon the ground as if he were practising his muscles for some 
future run, or quarrel with an enemy. Throwing one ear forward to 

( 123 ) 


Jim Crow Tales. 


look very wise, and brushing back his long whiskers, the rabbit began : 

“I tell you, Judge Lion, that Mr. Hyena is a coward and a sneak, 
as all animals are whose hind-legs are shorter than their front ones. 
Here is my friend, the Kangaroo,” said he, nodding his head toward 
another creature that looked very much like himself, except that it 
was much larger, “he will tell you the same thing. I say again, 
the Hyena is a coward; and so is Mr. Wolf, who like his chum has 
a sloping back.” 

Mr. Cottontail had hardly time to finish his speech when both 
Mr. Wolf and Mr. Hyena, with howls of anger, made a leap for him. 
They had wanted to play one of their sly tricks on him before the 
meeting began, but were afraid of King Lion who declared that 
everyone of the animals should have justice dealt out to him, at these 
meetings. Both these fellows loved rabbit meat, and they had set a 
trap many a time for the fat one who was at the meeting, but they 
never could catch him. 

Mr. Cottontail gave a big leap, popped under Mrs. Cow and 
leaped clear over the back of Mr. Donkey. 

Now Mr. Donkey was present for the first time when King 
Lion called the meeting to order. However, as usual, he was tired, 
and had seated himself, wagging his long ears as if he understood 
everything that was said. Usually he paid no attention to the 

( 124) 


Trial of Mr. Hyena. 


speeches, but when Mr. Cottontail spoke of hind-legs, he became 
very much interested, for he had many uses to which he put his own, 
and if there was any new way in which he might handle them he 
wanted to know all about it. 

So Mr. Donkey arose to gather into his long ears every point 
of the conversation. As to whether his hind legs were shorter than 
his front ones he could not say exactly, and he was trying to decide 
this point when the furore began. 



Struck Mr. Hyena a blow that sent him rolling over many times. 


Around and around, and in and out went Mr. Cottontail with 
Mr. Wolf and Mr. Hyena close after him. The Dragon Fly was 
knocked off his seat on the timothy stem, and Mr. Bee became so ex- 
cited and angry that he darted for the first thing that attracted his 
attention. That was the Hyena’s red tongue, now hanging out full 
length. This he stung good and hard. 

( 125 ) 


Jim Crow Tales. 


Mr. Hyena, forgetting the chase for a moment, to rub his smart- 
ing tongue on his foot, stopped behind Mr. Donkey. The fellow 
with the long ears threw out both his hind legs, and struck Mr. Hyena 
a blow that sent him rolling over many times, howling with pain. 

By this time King Lion had become very angry at the uproar; 
he gave such a terrible bellow, it brought every one in the courtroom 
to his senses. 

Again there was silence. 

“Mr. Cottontail, and Mr. Hyena,” said Judge Lion, “step out 
here, and receive punishment for all this disturbance you have 
caused.” 

Mr. Cottontail would much rather have run away to the thicket 
and hid himself in the brush, but there was no way of escaping now. 
So out before Judge Lion he went. 

Mr. Hyena was so badly bruised, that the assistance of Mr. 
Monkey was necessary to help him come forward. The latter offered 
to furnish him with a bamboo crutch, but Hyena rejected the pro- 
posal. 

“Both of you have acted very shamefully,” began Judge Lion; 
“and you must pay the penalty. Mr. Cottontail, you should not have 
spoken as you did, especially about so aged an animal as our friend, 
Mr. Wolf.” 


( 126 ) 



“ Mrs. Cow gave Mr. Hyena a severe lecturing.” 

(Page 128) 







Trial of Mr. Hyena. 


“He’s not a friend of mine,” squealed Mr. Cottontail. 

“Quiet!” commanded Judge Lion. “Mr. Cottontail, for these 
two offenses, insulting Mr. Hyena, and Mr. Wolf, you shall remain 
in the swamp one whole week, eating dry grass. If you come out 
upon the hillside to get some fresh clover you shall be eaten by any 
animal that loves rabbit meat.” 

“Judge, I shall consider it a great favor if you will grant me 
that permission,” spoke up Mr. Hyena, who was anxious to get at 
Mr. Cottontail. 



The animals started for their homes. 

“No,” said Judge Lion, “I shall keep that pleasure for myself. 
You, Mr. Hyena, shall remain in your den three days, without fresh 
bones to pick. Hereafter you will perhaps know how to behave.” 

“Make Cottontail stay out of my holes,” squeaked Muskrat, in- 
terrupting at this point. 

“Silence!” commanded Judge Lion, “or I shall send you after 


( 127) 


Jim Crow Tales. 


Mr. Potter.” The dam builder could not endure such foolishness 
as had been going on among the animals, and he could be seen going 
over the hill on the way to Beaver Dam. 

This ended the meeting for that day and the animals started 
for their homes. Mrs. Cow and Mr. Hyena happened to go in the 
same direction. Mrs. Cow, who always observed the best of manners 
on all occasions, gave Mr. Hyena a severe lecturing. She told him 
how she had earned a comfortable home and a nice bed of straw by 
her good behavior; how she never went hungry, but always had a 
rack full of hay, and how she was loved by her owner. Mr. Hyena, 
with a shamed face, listened to her attentively, and then trotted off 
to his cave. 



( 128 ) 



MOLLY SNIFFER, the big brown bear, had two children, 
Boxer and Tumbler. Because they could walk the full length of an 
oak log they considered that they were very wise young bears, and 
had nothing more to learn; that all they had to do, was to go out and 
sniff a little to find bees’ nests and ant towns. 

“See me stand on my hind legs,” said Tumbler to Boxer, “you 
can’t do that, and keep your eyes shut.” 

Boxer took up the challenge, and waddled on two legs along the 
log until he came to a knot, when he went rolling like a big fuzzy 
caterpillar down among the leaves. Tumbler proved that he could 
do it, and he danced along sidewise, hanging his little red tongue out 
as if he were using that to help balance himself. Whether he was 
squinting out of the corner of one eye, no one knew but himself. At 
any rate Boxer accused him, and the two were mixed up in a quarrel, 


( 129 ) 


Jim Crow Tales . 


wften their mother came back from Blackberry Grove where she had 
been gathering some ripe fruit. 

Mrs. Sniffer cuffed each of her sons on the ears with her rough 
paws, until they cried “ouch” more than half a dozen times. Then 
she took them both down and dipped them in Bear Wallow, which 
she said was to keep their fur in proper condition during summer- 
time. They squealed enough before she was half done with them, 
and when she pulled them out, she made them cut twelve circles 
around the den so that they wouldn’t catch cold. “Now, let me see 
each one of you shin up that dogwood tree,” she commanded, sitting 
down to superintend the gymnastic exercise. 

Tumbler was given the first trial. He scratched the tree’s bark 
off in the start, not knowing exactly how to go about climbing. “Put 
your feet around it,” cried Mrs. Bear, “if you don’t do better than 
that, you are not going to get any dinner.” 

Chasing Tumbler down, she climbed the dogwood tree herself, 
with two nice chunks of honeycomb in her mouth. These she laid 
in a fork of the limbs far up the tree. After coming down she said, 
“If you young fellows can climb up there, you can have a honeycomb 
apiece; if not, you shall go hungry until evening.” 

Both the cubs took a run at the tree in their eagerness to get at the 


( 130) 


Mrs . Sniffer and Her Cubs . 



honey. “One at a time,” commanded Mrs. 
Sniffer, pulling Tumbler away. 

Boxer scratched and labored until he 
had almost reached his piece of sweetness, 
but when his mother went into the den for a 
few minutes, he gave the tree a terrible shake, 
and down came both pieces of the honey. 
Then there was an exciting scramble for the 
largest piece. When Mrs. 

Sniffer came out she could not 
exactly understand how they 
had gotten the prizes so soon, 
although she knew they must 
have been up to their tricks 
again. 

The hour was now at hand 
for the regular morning forag- 
ing expedition, and, with a 
command that the young bears 
should follow her, single file, 

Mrs. Sniffer started off through 
the forest to look for ants. If 


Boxer scratched and labored until he had almost 
reached his piece of sweetness. 

( 131 ) 


Jim Crow Tales. 


she could not find any, she intended going down to Deer Creek to 
look for crabs. Tumbler always wanted to be second in the proces- 
sion, and he had won that place by virtue of a fight he and his brother 
had in the den, one time while their mother was away on an expedi- 
tion. So Boxer came after him, biting him in the heels and hanging 
to his fur when he wanted to jump over a log. 

When Mrs. Sniffer scented an ant town, with her long nose, she 
turned to her children saying: “Which direction would you go now, 
to get those ants?” wishing to test the smelling powers of her cubs. 

Tumbler and Boxer sniffed and sneezed in every direction. They 
thought they smelled ants, but they could not tell just where the in- 
sects were. 

Said Boxer, “I believe they are over there in that spruce tree.” 
“Sniff again,” said his mother. 

“I’m sure I hear them buzzing up in that tree,” said Tumbler, 
looking up among the tree tops. “No, they are right near here on the 
ground,” replied Mrs. Sniffer. 

The cubs then went to scratching the leaves about, and smelling 
in the rotten logs. When Stripes, the ground squirrel, rushed out of 
a log, and bit Tumbler on the end of his nose, he screeched as though 
he had been almost killed. Mrs. Bear was disgusted with her two 
sons. 


( !32 ) 


Mrs. Sniffer and Her Cubs. 


“You two fellows would starve if I wasn’t along to show you 
how to get something to eat,” she scolded. “When I was not as old 
as you I was left to take care of myself. My mother had been killed 
by a hunter. Now I want you to do better or I shall have to make 
each of you take a bitter dose of wild-cherry bark, to sharpen those 
noses of yours.” 

Then she waddled over and, turning over a piece of bark, dis- 
closed a fine nest of ants with heaps of eggs that were almost ready 
to be hatched. The young bears soon licked up every inhabitant 
of the town, except a few of the wiser ants who had run away and hid 
under the leaves where the bears could not find them. 

While they were eating, a dreadful thing happened to Mrs. 
Sniffer. The wind blew a dead limb down from the top of a tree, 
which fell upon the mother bear, crushing her to the earth. 

She lay as if dead while the two cubs cried as if their hearts 
were breaking. They licked her paws and kissed her closed eye- 
lids with their little warm tongues, but she would not awaken. A 
branch of the dead limb pinned her head to the ground, so they could 
not lay their furry little heads on hers. Boxer began tugging at the 
limb. He remembered having seen his mother clearing away the 
branches that had fallen into the mouth of their den, during a stormy 
night. Tumbler helped him chew, and their sharp teeth soon 

( 133 ) 


Jim Crow Tales. 


chipped away the snag that pierced the neck of their mother. But 
still she would not awake. Again they sat on their haunches, and 
cried, and cried, and cried. Then they ran around in the bushes, 
whining and calling for help. But now there was no one to heed 
every little cry of pain or distress. 

Both Boxer and Tumbler began to feel a terrible gnawing in 
their stomachs, and their noses, as if they knew what was demanded 
of them, began sniffing the air. They were real bears, these two 
young fellows, and their bear natures began to show themselves. 
They wandered away from their mother a little, each time they made 
the circle, and finally could no longer smell her warm body in the 
air. Boxer growled a little at the noise made by some birds scratch- 
ing among the leaves. Sure enough he had some spunk. Tumbler 
did the same thing. 

“I’m a bear, a great big bear,” they were saying and the hair on 
their backs would begin to rise at the slightest noise. Those stiff 
hairs made them feel more courageous than anything else. But 
neither one could get quite away from the habit of whining, when 
they were sniffing in hollow logs for some insects to eat. On and on 
they waddled until they came to the creek for which their mother 
was headed when she started out with them in the morning. There 
they became interested in fishing for crabs 


( 134) 



“ Boxer began tugging at the limb.” 

(Page 133) 





Mrs . Sniffer and Her Cubs . 


While the cubs were wandering in the forest, a little leaf loaded 
down with big drops of dew swayed heavily in the breeze that had 
sprung up. It was scarcely able to bear its burden longer and when 
the wind grew a little stronger, the drops of dew rolled off and 
dropped down upon the mother bear’s nose. She was not dead, for 
her sides were still heaving, and when the dew reached her she 
stretched out her legs as if she was about to wake up. Then she 
groaned and opened her eyes. She called for her children but they 
did not come. They were down at the creek by this time. 

Mrs. Sniffer finally arose, whining with pain, and propped her- 
self with the one fore-leg that had not been injured by the falling 
limb. Then she called for her cubs again, but there was no answer. 
Limping along she dragged herself back to her den which she found 
empty. After licking the injured parts of her body well with her 
tongue, she sought a nearby berry patch. There she filled herself 
with the ripest berries she could find, and then lay down on the 
sunny side of a log to rest herself and let her injuries heal. She 
meant to hunt for her cubs as soon as she would be able to go after 
them. 

Mrs. Sniffer was awakened by the breaking of dead branches in 
the berry thicket, but she was so stiff, she could not rise to see who the 
intruder was. Her fears were that it might be Grizzly, a monster 

( 13s ) 


Jim Crow Tales . 


bear, who claimed to be king of that region and who tore anyone 
with his dreadful claws who dared dispute his claims. He had at 
one time posted a sign on a tree near the cave, that this was his prop- 
erty in which Mrs. Sniffer had reared her children. She, having 
no other place to go that was as safe, had dared to live in there among 
the rocks in spite of Grizzly’s threats, that he would one day settle 
accounts with her. A strong sniff in the direction of the noise told 
Mrs. Sniffer that it indeed was Grizzly, and the growing of the noise 
convinced her he was coming in her direction. Her only hope was 
that he would find enough berries, so that by the time he came up 
his stomach would be filled and he would be in good humor. 

Grizzly, however, did not find enough ripe berries to fill his 
stomach, for Mrs. Sniffer had eaten the most of them. He saw 
where she had waded through the patch, and the bristles on his neck 
were standing erect with anger when he came upon her by the log. 

“So you have eaten so much you could not even get out of my 
way, did you?” growled Grizzly, when he saw Mrs. Sniffer. “I 
thought I had made it plain that this patch, and that cave you and 
your youngsters are living in, belongs to me.” 

“Oh, we are bears, great big bears. We’ve got claws that are 
sharper than those of Grizzly. We are the owners of blackberry 
patches, huckleberry swamps, forests of bees’ nests, and creeks that 


( 136 ) 


Mrs. Sniffer and Her Cubs . 


are full to their banks with crabs. We are the bears of Bruintown, 
so beware, so beware,” came a chorus of voices, but from where, 
neither Grizzly nor Mrs. Sniffer could tell. 

Bruintown was a wonderful region where the bears grew to 
twice the size of Grizzly because they always had all the honey and 
fat crabs they could eat. It was a fairyland which every young 
growler wanted to visit, and many a young boaster had strayed away 
from his mother into the depths of the forest, hoping to find the 
wonderful region. 

Grizzly cocked his ears, for although he had grown too old to 
believe fairy stories, yet his mouth always watered for honey, and 
he listened attentively to the strange voices saying: “Big, big bears 
from Bruintown.” Mrs. Sniffer, who had been frightened almost 
to death by the approach of Grizzly, was only too glad his attention 
was turned from her, for he certainly would have torn her to pieces 
had he been left alone. Grizzly, possibly thinking the sounds came 
from the ground beneath his feet, began pawing up the dead leaves. 
Then he walked among the berry bushes a few steps, and listened 
again. The mention of his name lured him farther away from Mrs. 
Sniffer, who was glad of a chance to escape. 

Whining with pain at every movement, Mrs. Sniffer dragged 
herself into the border of the forest, where she took refuge under 

( 137 ) 


Jim Crow Tales. 


the upturned roots of a tree that had been blown over by the winds. 
Again she heard the voices saying, “We are great big bears,” and 
they seemed closer to her than ever. Something familiar about the 
sound made her call for her children. Immediately there was si- 
lence, except for the breaking of dead brambles by Grizzly, who was 
getting deeper and deeper into the blackberry patch. 

Forgetting her pains in her eagerness, Mrs. Sniffer plaintively 
called again for her lost children. Then she thought she heard an 
answer. She scrambled from beneath the roots as best she could, and 
climbed upon the fallen tree. A chipmunk that had been barking 
and squinting down into a knot hole of the same tree scampered 
away, chattering with fright. 

Mrs. Sniffer whined once more, and a woolly head emerged 
from a hole that had been dug by a woodchuck down under the log. 
It was Tumbler, who, when he saw his mother, rolled and tumbled 
with delight. After him came Boxer, who with his brother, was soon 
hugged in the fore-legs of their mother. A wolf had frightened 
them away from the creek where they had gone fishing, and they were 
still trying to keep up their courage by saying bold things which 
they thought would frighten all enemies away from the hole in which 
they had hidden for the night. 


(138) 


Mrs . Sniffer and Her Cubs . 


Mrs. Sniffer took her children home to her cave, and cuddled 
them close to her furry sides that night, for fear they would wander 
away from her again. 



( 139 ) 



HELLO, Gray Hairs, are you awake, or are you asleep?” called 
Stripes, the ground squirrel, to the ’possum who had all but his nose 
covered by the leaves in the hollow base of the tree. “I never can 
tell whether that fellow is only fooling or is actually asleep. Hello, 
there, Gray Hairs, I’m sorry I took the task of calling you for supper 
in the evening. It’s small returns I get, doing you this favor for the 
right to have my side door open out into your den, which is always 
in a muss, bed covers never arranged, rain coming in at every crack, 
bats roosting right above you. Wake up, Gray Hairs, and shake the 
leaves from your fur; I’m getting hoarse from calling you.” 

Gray Hairs yawned under his cover of leaves as if it were dread- 
ful labor for him to get up. Finally, his sharp, hairless nose ap- 

( ho) 


Stripes Attempts to Play 9 Possum . 


peared, and when he raised up he took with him half his bed covers. 

“Gray Hairs, I’m tired calling you,” complained Stripes, “I 
risk my life every evening, sitting here and calling you in such a loud 
voice that an owl in Moose Bottoms could hear me. You can rent 
out that side door of yours to some other fellow, because I never have 
need of it anyhow. I’ll return those acorns you gave me, for I’ve 
not touched one of them yet. I’ll bring them over tomorrow morn- 
ing and drop them in the corner of your den.” 

“I’m sorry, Stripes, that you are not satisfied with the bargain,” 
squeaked the ’possum, as if his voice were coming out through the 
end of his pointed nose, rather than from his mouth. “I don’t want 
you to leave me, and if there is anything that you really want, and I 
can get it, I shall be grateful to add it to my end of the bargain. I 
know quite a few things that may be of interest to you, anyone of 
which I shall be pleased to impart, if you will promise not to desert 
me. There is one trick especially, that possums never give away, 
and I shall be pleased to tell it to you. How would you like to learn 
how to play ’possum?” 

“I am not so sure what you are talking about, Gray Hairs,” re- 
plied Stripes. 

“Why, you must surely have heard how almost every ’possum in 
this forest has fooled that trapper’s dog, Caesar? He caught me, 

( hi ) 


Jim Crow Tales . 


once, and you see, Stripes, that I am still alive. It was all because 
of that trick of which I am about to tell you. I have even heard of 
members of my family getting away from wolves and foxes, who are 
usually so hungry they can hardly wait, after they once get you, until 
they have eaten you. With the knowledge of this trick you could 
fool that owl, Terrible Claws, so that he would sharpen his beak for a 
week, thinking he would be sure to hold you the next time.” 

Stripes cuddled himself together like a cat, for he knew it would 
take the slow ’possum a long time to tell his story. The ground 
squirrel was willing and glad to add something new to his store of 
knowledge. “I agree,” said he to Gray Hairs, “to awaken you every 
evening for the rest of this summer if, as you say, this ’possum trick 
can be proved of value in saving my life at any time.” Stripes had 
seated himself close to the side door that led into the den, so that, 
if it became necessary, he could readily escape. 

“I should like very much to prove to you that this trick is of 
much value,” said the ’possum, “and if you will agree to do as I say, 
and not run away when the time comes for you to be bold, you will 
be well repaid. You see, ’possums never expect to escape by run- 
ning, for their legs are not made for that, and yet they nearly always 
get away. You know when you are asleep, you forget all about owls, 
and wolves, and foxes. Well, that is the secret of playing ’possum. 


( 142 ) 


Stripes Attempts to Play * Possum. 


Knowing how nervous you are about all sounds, I shall have to give 
you lessons, Stripes, and I shall have to begin on the first, right now, 
if you are willing.” 

“You may proceed,” said the ground squirrel, his eyes shining 
like little diamonds, down in the darkness of the ’possum den. 

“In the first place, Stripes, you must be able to lie perfectly still, 
no matter if your nose be itching, or be smelling something good for 
your appetite ; whether someone is pulling a few hairs from your coat, 
or whether an enemy is rubbing his ugly, cold muzzle, along your 
sides. You must not let them know that you are alive and breathing, 
because if it is a wolf or dog he will surely bite you harder, until you 
do lie perfectly quiet. The time Caesar caught me in the corn patch, 
he shook me good and hard, and I never let on he was biting me at all. 
Then he, thinking I was surely dead, walked to the creek to get a 
drink, when I got up and sneaked off. 

“Now you must lie down and be real quiet, just as if you were 
dead.” Gray Hairs tumbled Stripes over on his back. Not being 
accustomed to this kind of treatment, Stripes flew around upon his 
feet in an instant and scratched the ’possum across the face with his 
nails. 

“I can never teach you to play ’possum if you are going to act 
in this manner,” complained Gray Hairs. “Why, if you did that 

( 143 ) 


Jim Crow Tales. 


when there was a dog around, he would surely bite you to death.” 

Stripes, trying to be obedient, now lay down as limply as he 
could. The ’possum had to straighten him out, for he insisted on 
curling up, as he did in his den when he was sleeping. Then, too, his 
eyes would fly open and shut, and his small sides would heave. “You 
must stop that,” cried Gray Hairs, “when there is anyone around you 
must always have your eyes closed. Suppose Terrible Tooth was 
standing over you just now. You must also stop twisting your nose 
around, and quit making those toenails of yours move as if you were 
running. Now we shall see how still you can lie while I count 
twenty. If you can be quiet that long, then I shall try you on fifty.” 

Gray Hairs turned away, and began counting slowly; but before 
he had said “five,” Stripes leaped to his feet, and licked into place 
several hairs standing up on his back; besides knocking off a bug 
crawling on his ear. 

“This will never do. You must be quiet if you want to learn to 
do the ’possum act,” said Gray Hairs. “Lie down now, and don’t stir 
a leg nor a hair, until I say that you may get up. If you forget your- 
self like that, when there is a fox hanging over you, he would watch 
you so carefully, you would never get away alive. Now try it again.” 

Stripes tumbled over on his side, and did pretty well this time 
for such an active little fellow as he was. Gray Hairs could even 

( 144) 



“ Mrs. Whiskers entered with her family of five children.” 

(Page 145) 





Stripes Attempts to Play 'Possum. 


pinch him in the side with his teeth, and he would do no more than 
jerk his hind-feet a little. The ’possum was pleased with his ex- 
periments, and said that if Stripes kept on practicing he would be- 
come a very clever little ’possum. No one would know any better, 
because he had stripes on his sides, for all ’possums have patches of 
white and gray fur. “I am proud of you,” said Gray Hairs, u and 
each day I shall tell you some more about the tricks that we play.” 

A scratching on the stump, in which the ’possum and the ground 
squirrel were located, attracted the attention of Gray Hairs, and 
Stripes, with his usual agility, leaped to his feet. 

“Come in,” called Gray Hairs. 

At the invitation of the owner of the stump, Mrs. Whiskers en- 
tered with her family of five children, each of whom was clinging to 
her back with his tail wrapped around hers, to keep him from falling 
off when she made an uncertain move. They were a fine lot of 
children of which any ’possum mother would have been proud, but 
Stripes did not like the looks of them and he would have retired to 
his den out along the root had not Gray Hairs called him back, and 
asked him to show Mrs. Whiskers the trick he had learned and how 
well he could do it. 

The young ’possums let themselves down by their tails from the 
back of their mother, and began sniffing around the ground squirrel 

( i4S) 



Jim Crow Tales. 


in a familiar manner. Stripes did not like their cold noses poking 
around in his fur and he kept away from them as much as he could. 
Finally Mrs. Whiskers ordered her children to behave themselves. 
Then they all joined tails and gathered in a heap, in a corner of the 
hollow stump. Stripes was doing the ’possum act very well indeed, 
when Sleepy, the largest of Mrs. Whiskers’ children, sneaked up to 
count the stripes on the sleek coat of the ground squirrel. Stripes 
opened his eyes, and nipped the young investigator with his sharp 
teeth until he squeaked with pain. 

“My, my!” exclaimed Mrs. Whiskers. “How nervous he is!” 

Stripes lay down again, resolved to do better because all the 
young ’possums were laughing at him now. One said he looked just 
like a little caterpillar rolled up ; another noticed what a short fuzzy 
tail he had, while still another said he saw Stripes peeking. Each of 
these remarks caused the ground squirrel to jump up and argue. 
The sound of nuts falling upon the ground, almost made him forget 
himself, for he leaped clear over Gray Hairs, and was about to jump 
out of the stump, when he remembered that he was playing ’possum. 

Then Mrs. Whiskers made the smallest of her children step out 
and show what he could do. The young fellow could be lifted up 
by the tail, tickled in the ear with a straw, pinched in the heels, and 
could endure many another annoyance without so much as moving a 

( ) 


Stripes Attempts to Play * Possum . 


hair in objection. Stripes tried it again, but when it came to tickling 
his ears and feet with a straw, that was too much for his patience 
and he jumped up and bit every one of the young ’possums. That 
made Mrs. Whiskers angry and she demanded of Gray Hairs that 
the ground squirrel be punished for his insolence to visitors. Gray 
Hairs was arguing the case with her, when in an instant both be- 
came quiet, after having the signal to play ’possum. Gray Hairs 
had taught Stripes, any time he saw him fall over on his side, that 
Stripes should do likewise. All the young ’possums dropped over 
at their mother’s signal and Stripes did the same, although he did 
not know what the danger was. 

Stripes was just complimenting himself on how successfully he 
was following the instructions of the old ’possum, and that now he 
would no longer be compelled to run his legs off, the moment he saw 
or heard the approach of an enemy, when he felt something strike 
him on one ear. 

A voice said: “That is indeed the funniest manner in which 
I ever saw a ground-squirrel sleeping. (Stripes gave a little squeak 
of alarm. Possibly he might have moved his right hind-leg a lit- 
tle. He was not sure that he had not, and he tried to hold it as stiff 
and quiet as possible.) When I tap him on the ear, with this elder- 
stem, see him jump. He must have been eating some old and strong 

( 147 ) 


Jim Crow Tales . 



hickory nuts, that 
have given him bad 
dreams and made 
him sleep down 
there among that 
lot of drowsy ’pos- 
sums. ” 

“Thump, thumpty-thump !” Stripes got sev- 
eral severe raps on the head, each one of which 
made him jump, as though the dentist was pulling 
a tooth for him. He pinched his eyes shut, as 
tight as he could, and lay now with his little short 
legs sticking straight up in the air. “Ha, ha, ha,” 
laughed the party with the pole, “I never knew a 
ground squirrel could lie on his back, the way 
one sees them jumping and barking around in the 
forest.” 

Stripes, unable to stand longer the whacks he 
was getting on the head, leaped to his feet, flew 
up the side of the stump — and jumping upon the 
head of Slim Nose the raccoon, who was the one 
that had been taunting him, scratched the coon 

( hs ) 



“When I tap him on 
the ear with this elder 
stem, see him jump.” 


Stripes Attempts to Play 9 Possum . 


with his nails, and disappeared in a knot hole, in the hollow root 
where he had his den. 

Stripes was so mortified, because he had failed so foolishly, that 
he buried himself under the covers of his bed, and never looked out- 
side until the next day. He had decided that playing ’possum was 
beyond his ability; and so he informed Gray Hairs, whom he agreed 
to call every evening for two weeks, because of the trouble the 
’possum had taken trying to teach him a trick he could not learn. 



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